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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
DAVIS 


bp  6lt3nbctl)  Stuart 

(MRS.    WARD.) 


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HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A  SINGULAR   LIFE 


BY 


ELIZABETH   STUART   PHELPS 


;  What  is  that  to  thee  ?    Follow  thou  me. 

JESUS  CHRIST 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

@fyt  fitoersibe  prpg?,  CambriDoe 

1897 


BRARY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 

TV  A  "V/TC 


Copyright,  1894, 
BY  ELIZABETH   STUART  PHELPS  WARD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


THIRTY-NINTH  THOUSAND. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company 


He  hath  given  a  loat  to  the  shipwrecked. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 


THEEE  were  seven  of  them  at  the  table  that  day, 
and  they  were  talking  about  heredity.  At  least 
they  were  talking  about  whatever  stood  for  hered- 
ity at  the  date  of  our  history.  The  word  had 
penetrated  to  religious  circles  at  the  time ;  but  it 
was  still  interpreted  with  a  free  personal  transla- 
tion. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  greater  curiosity  of  its 
kind  than  that  of  a  group  of  theological  students 
(chiefly  in  their  junior  year)  discussing  science. 
It  is  not  certain  that  the  tendencies  of  the  Semi- 
nary club  dinner  are  not  in  themselves  materialistic. 
The  great  law  of  denial  belongs  to  the  powerful 
forces  of  life,  whether  the  case  be  one  of  coolish 
baked  beans,  or  an  unrequited  affection.  That 
the  thing  we  have  not  is  the  thing  we  would  have, 
neither  you  nor  I  nor  the  junior  may  deny ;  and  it 
is  quite  probable  that  these  young  men  set  an  un- 
due value  upon  a  game  dinner  and  entrees,  which 
was  not  without  its  reactionary  effect  upon  their 
philosophy. 

Jaynes,  for  instance,  had  been  reading  Huxley. 
Jaynes  was  a  stout  man,  and  short,  with  those 


2  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

round  eyeglasses  by  which  oculists  delight  in  de- 
forming round  people.  He  confessed  that  he  was 
impressed  by  the  argument.  He  said  :  — 

"  Varieties  arise,  we  do  not  know  why ;  and  if  it 
should  be  probable  that  the  majority  of  varieties 
have  arisen  in  a  spontaneous  manner  "  — 

"  A  little  vinegar,  Jaynes,  if  you  please,"  inter- 
rupted Tompkinton  gently.  Tompkinton  was  long 
and  lean.  His  hair  was  thin,  and  scraggled  about 
his  ears,  which  were  not  small.  His  hands  were 
thin.  His  clear  blue  eye  had  an  absent  look.  In 
cold  weather  he  wore  an  old  army  cape  of  his 
father's.  He  studied  much  without  a  fire,  for  the 
club  board  at  the  "  short  price "  cost  him  two 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  a  week.  His  boots 
were  old,  and  he  had  no  gloves  and  a  cough.  He 
came  from  the  State  of  New  Hampshire. 

Then  there  was  Fenton  :  a  snug  little  fellow, 
who  took  honors  at  Amherst ;  a  man  who  never 
spent  more  than  five  hundred  a  year  in  his  life, 
yet  always  wore  clean  linen  and  a  tolerable  coat, 
had  a  stylish  cut  to  his  hair,  and  went  to  Boston 
occasionally  to  a  concert.  It  was  even  reported 
that  he  had  been  to  see  Booth.  But  the  Faculty 
discredited  the  report.  Besides,  he  had  what  was 
known  as  "  a  gift  at  prayer." 

Fenton  was  rather  a  popular  man,  and  when  he 
spoke  in  answer  to  Holt  (who  observed  that  lie 
considered  Huxley's  Descent  of  Man  an  infidel 
book)  he  was  listened  to  with  marked  attention. 

Holt  was  in  the  Special  Course.     He  was  a  con 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  3 

verted  brakeman  from  the  Hecla  and  St.  Mary's, 
a  flourishing  Western  railway.  Holt,  being  the 
only  student  present  who  had  not  received  any  un- 
due measure  of  collegiate  culture,  was  treated  with 
marked  courtesy  by  his  more  liberally  educated 
fellow-students. 

"  We  are  reading  Darwin  up  at  my  room,  two 
or  three  of  us,  after  dinner,"  observed  Fenton 
kindly.  "  We  should  be  happy  to  have  you  join 
us  sometimes,  Holt."  . 

Holt  blinked  at  the  speaker  with  that  uncertain 
motion  of  the  eyelids  which  means  half  intellectual 
confusion,  and  half  personal  embarrassment.  Not 
a  man  of  these  young  Christians  had  smiled  ;  yet 
the  Special  Course  student,  being  no  natural  fool, 
vaguely  perceived  that  something  had  gone  wrong. 

But  Fenton  was  vivaciously  discussing  last  No- 
vember's ball  games  with  his  vis-a-vis,  a  middler 
whose  name  is  unknown  to  history.  It  was  some 
time  before  he  said,  looking  far  down  the  long 
table :  — 

"  Bayard,  who  is  it  that  says  it  takes  three  gen- 
erations to  make  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Why,  Holmes,  I  suppose,"  answered  he  who  was 
addressed.  "  Who  else  would  be  likely  to  say  it  ?  " 

"Any  of  the  Avonsons  might  have  said  it,''  ob* 
served  a  gentlemanly  fellow  from  the  extreme  end 
of  the  table  ;  he  returned  his  spoon  to  his  saucer 
as  he  spoke.  There  were  several  students  at  the 
club  who  did  not  drink  with  their  spoons  in  their 
teacups,  and  even  laid  the  knife  and  fork  in  paral- 


4  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

lels  upon  the  plate,  and  this  was  one  of  the  men. 
He  had  an  effective  and  tenderly  cherished  mus- 
tache. He  was,  on  the  whole,  a  handsome  man. 
It  was  thought  that  he  would  settle  over  a  city 
parish. 

"  I  doubt  if  there  was  ever  an  Avonson  who 
could  have  said  it,  Bent,"  replied  Bayard.  The 
A  von  sons  were  a  prominent  New  England  family, 
not  unknown  to  diplomacy  and  letters,  nor  even  to 
Holt  of  the  Hecla  and  St.  Mary's. 

"  But  why,  then  ?  "  persisted  Bent. 

"  They  have  believed  it  too  thoroughly  and  too 
long  to  say  anything  so  fine." 

Bent  raised  an  interrogative  eyebrow. 

"  You  won't  understand,"  returned  Bayard,  smil- 
ing. All  the  fellows  turned  towards  Bayard  when 
he  smiled  ;  it  was  a  habit  they  had.  "  You  are  n't 
expected  to.  You  are  destined  for  the  Episcopal 
Church." 

"  I  see  the  connection  less  than  ever,"  Bent 
maintained.  "  But  I  scent  heresy  somewhere. 
You  are  doomed  to  the  stake,  Bayard.  That  is 
clear  as  —  as  the  Latin  fathers.  Have  an  apple, 
—  do.  It 's  sour,  but  sound.  It 's  Baldwin  year, 
or  we  should  n't  get  them  except  Sundays." 

Bayard  mechanically  took  the  apple,  and  laid  it 
down  untouched.  His  eye  wandered  up  the  cold 
length  of  the  long  table  decorated  with  stone 
china.  Somehow,  few  aspects  of  the  theological 
life  struck  his  imagination  so  typically  as  a  big 
vegetable  dish  piled  with  cold,  unrelieved  Bald- 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  5 

wins,  to  be  served  for  after-dinner  fruit  on  a  win- 
ter day.  In  the  kind  of  mental  chill  which  the 
smallest  of  causes  may  throw  over  a  nature  like 
his,  Bayard  did  not  exert  himself  to  reply  to  his 
classmate,  but  fell  into  one  of  the  sudden  silences 
for  which  he  was  marked. 

"  My  father,"  observed  the  New  Hampshire  man 
quietly,  "  was  a  farmer.  He  dug  his  own  potatoes 
the  day  before  he  enlisted.  Perhaps  I  am  no 
judge,  but  I  always  thought  he  was  a  gentleman 
—  when  I  was  a  little  boy." 

Tompkinton  shouldered  himself  out  of  the  con- 
versation, asked  one  of  the  fellows  what  hour  the 
Professor  had  decided  on  for  eternal  punishment, 
and  went  out  into  the  wintry  air,  taking  long 
strides  to  the  lecture-room,  with  his  notebook 
under  the  old  blue  army  cape,  of  which  the  north- 
west wind  flung  up  the  scarlet  side. 

"  Has  the  Professor  tea'd  you  yet,  Bent?  "  asked 
Bayard,  rousing,  perhaps  a  little  too  obviously 
anxious  to  turn  the  channels  of  conversation.  Gen- 
ealogical problems  at  best,  and  in  picked  company, 
are  unsafe  topics ;  hence  peculiarly  dangerous  at  a 
club  table  of  poor  theologues,  half  of  whom  must, 
in  the  nature  of  things,  be  forcing  their  way  into 
social  conditions  wholly  unknown  to  their  past. 
Bayard  was  quicker  than  the  other  men  to  think 
of  such  things. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Bent,  with  a  slightly  twitching 
mustache.  "  Ten  of  us  at  a  time  in  alphabetical 
order.  I  came  the  first  night,  being  a  B.  Madam 


6  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

his  wife  and  Mademoiselle  his  daughter  were  pres- 
ent, the  only  ladies  against  such  a  lot  of  us.  I 
pitied  them. .  But  Miss  Carruth  seemed  to  pity 
us.  She  showed  me  her  photograph  book,  and 
some  Swiss  pickle  forks  —  carved.  Then  she 
asked  me  if  I  read  Comte.  And  then  her  mother 
askejd  me  how  many  of  the  class  had  received 
calls.  Then  the  Professor  told  some  stories  about 
a  Baptist  minister.  And  so  by  and  by  we  came 
away.  It  was  an  abandoned  hour  —  for  Cesarea. 
It  was  ten  o'clock." 

"  I  was  in  town  that  night,"  observed  Bayard. 
"  I  had  to  send  my  regrets." 

"  If  you  were  in  town,  why  could  n't  you  go  ?  " 
asked  the  middler. 

"  I  mean  that  I  was  out  of  town.  I  was  in  Bos- 
ton. I  had  gone  home,"  explained  Bayard  pleas- 
antly. 

"You  won't  come  in  now  till  after  the  Z's," 
suggested  Fenton  quickly  ;  "  or  else  you  '11  be  left 
over  till  the  postgraduates  take  turn,  and  the  B's 
come  on  again." 

The  Baldwin  apples  were  all  eaten  now,  and  the 
stone  china  was  disappearing  from  the  long  table 
in  detachments.  Jaynes  and  the  Special  Course 
man  had  followed  Tompkinton,  and  the  middler 
and  Bent  now  pushed  back  their  chairs.  Bayard 
remained  a  moment  to  ask  after  the  landlady's 
neuralgia,  —  he  was  one  of  the  men  who  do  not 
economize  sympathy  without  more  effort  than  its 
repression  is  usually  worth,  —  and  Fenton  waited 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  1 

for  him  in  the  cold  hall.  The  two  young  men 
shoved  their  shoulders  into  their  overcoats  stur- 
dily, and  walked  across  the  Seminary  green  to- 
gether to  their  rooms. 

Strictly  speaking,  one  should  say  the  Seminary 
5<  white."  It  was  midwinter,  and  on  top  of  Cesarea 
Hill.  From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  the 
winds  of  heaven  blew,  and  beat  against  that  spot ; 
to  it  the  first  snowflake  flew,  and  on  it  the  last 
blizzard  fell.  Were  the  winters  longer  and  the 
summers  hotter  in  Cesarea  than  in  other  places  ? 
So  thought  the  theologues  in  the  old  draughty, 
shaking  Seminary  dormitories  dignified  by  time 
and  native  talent  with  the  name  of  "  halls." 

Young  Bayard  trod  the  icy  path  to  his  own  par- 
ticular hall  (Galilee  was  its  name)  with  the  chronic 
homesickness  of  a  city-bred  man  forced  through  a 
New  England  country  winter  under  circumstances 
which  forbade  him  to  find  fault  with  it.  His  pro- 
fession and  his  seminary  were  his  own  choice ;  he 
had  never  been  conscious  of  wavering  in  it,  or 
caught  in  grumbling  about  it,  but  sometimes  he 
felt  that  if  he  had  been  brought  up  differently,  — 
like  Tompkinton,  for  instance,  not  to  say  Holt,  — 
he  should  have  expended  less  of  that  vitality  neces- 
sary to  any  kind  of  success  in  the  simple  process 
of  enduring  the  unfamiliar. 

"  How  was  the  gale  round  your  room  last 
night?"  inquired  young  Fenton,  as  the  two 
climbed  the  frozen  terraces,  and  leaped  over  the 
chains  that  hung  between  rows  of  stunted  posts  set 


8  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

at  regular  intervals  in  front  of  the  Seminary  build' 
ings.  For  what  purpose  these  stone  dwarfs  stag- 
gered there,  no  one  but  the  founders  of  the  institu- 
tion knew ;  and  they  had  been  in  their  graves  too 
long  to  tell. 

"  It  made  me  think  of  my  uncle's  house,"  ob= 
served  Bayard. 

"  By  force  of  contrast  ?  Yes.  I  never  lived  in 
Beacon  Street.  But  I  can  guess.  I  pity  you  in 
that  northwest  corner.  My  mother  sent  me  a  soap- 
stone  by  express  last  week.  I  should  have  been 
dead,  I  should  have  been  frozen  stark,  without  it. 
You  heat  it,  you  know,  on  top  of  the  base-burner, 
and  tuck  it  in  the  sheets.  Then  you  forget  and 
kick  it  out  when  you  're  asleep,  and  it  thumps  on 
the  fellow's  head  in  the  room  below,  and  he  black- 
guards you  for  it  through  the  ceiling.  Better  get 
one." 

"Are  you  really  comfortable  —  all  night?" 
asked  Bayard  wistfully.  "  I  have  n't  thought 
about  being  warm  or  any  of  those  luxuries  since  I 
came  here.  I  expected  to  rough  it.  I  mean  to 
toughen  myself." 

In  his  heart  he  was  repeating  certain  old  words 
which  ran  like  this  :  Endure  hardness,  as  a  good 
soldier  of  Jesus  Christ.  But  they  did  not  come  to 
Ms  lips.  He  was  as  afraid  of  cant  as  too  many 
young  theologues  are  of  sincere  simplicity. 

"  Oh,  come,  Bayard  !  "  urged  the  other.  There 's 
where  you  miss  it.  Why  not  be  comfortable  ?  1 
don't  see  that  Christianity  and  misery  need  be 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  9 

identical.  You  are  certain  to  have  a  tough  time  if 
you  go  on  as  you  begin.  Talk  about  election,  fore- 
ordination,  predestination  !  You  take  the  whole 
set  of  condemnatory  doctrines  into  your  hands  and 
settle  your  own  fate  beforehand.  A  man  does  n't 
leave  Providence  any  free  will  who  sets  out  in  life 
as  you  do," 

"  Do  I  strike  you  that  way  ?  "  asked  the  young 
man  anxiously.  "  If  there  is  anything  I  abhor,  it 
is  a  gloomy  clergyman  !  " 

"  There  you  are  again !  Now  I  'm  not  finding 
fault  with  you,"  began  Fenton,  settling  his  chin  in 
his  comfortable  way.  "Your  soul  is  all  nerves, 
man.  It  is  a  ganglion.  You  need  more  tissue 
round  it  —  like  me." 

The  two  young  men  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bare, 
wooden  stairs  in  the  cold  entry  of  Galilee  Hall,  at 
the  dividing  of  their  ways.  It  was  the  usual  luck 
of  the  other  that  he  should  have  a  southwest  room, 
first  floor.  But  Bayard  climbed  to  his  northwest 
third-story  corner  uncomplainingly.  It  occurred  to 
him  to  say  that  there  were  objects  in  life  as  im- 
portant, on  the  whole,  as  being  comfortable.  But 
he  did  not.  He  only  asked  if  the  lectures  on  the 
Nicene  Creed  were  to  be  continued  at  four,  and 
went  on,  shivering,  to  his  room. 

It  was  a  bitter  February  afternoon,  and  the  wind 
blew  the  wrong  way  for  northwest  corners.  Bay- 
ard had  spent  the  day  in  coddling  his  big  base* 
burner,  which  now  rewarded  him  by  a  decent  glow 
as  he  entered  his  study.  He  had  no  chum,  and 


10  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

thanked  God  for  it ;  he  curled  into  the  shell  of  his 
solitude  contentedly,  and  turned  to  his  books  at 
once,  plunging  headlong  into  the  gulf  of  the  Nicene 
Creed.  At  the  end  of  two  hours  he  got  up,  shiver- 
ing. The  subject  was  colder  than  the  climate,  and 
he  felt  congealed  to  the  soul.  He  flung  open  his 
bedroom  door.  An  icy  breath*  came  from  that 
monastic  cell.  He  thought,  "  I  really  must  get 
some  double  windows."  He  had  purposely  re- 
frained all  winter  from  this  luxury  lest  he  should 
seem  to  have  more  comforts  than  his  poorer  class- 
mates. 

The  early  winter  sunset  was  coming  on,  and 
Cesarea  Hill  was  wrapping  herself  in  gold  and 
purple  and  in  silver  sheen  to  meet  it.  Bayard 
went  to  his  window,  and  stood,  with  his  hands 
locked  behind  him,  looking  abroad. 

The  Seminary  lawns  (old  Cesareans  spoke  of 
them  as  the  Seminary  "yard"),  encrusted  in  two 
feet  of  snow,  took  on  the  evening  colors  in  great 
sweeps,  as  if  made  by  one  or  two  strokes  of  a 
mighty  brush.  The  transverse  paths  that  cut 
across  the  snow,  under  rows  of  ancient  elm-trees, 
had  the  shape  of  a  cross.  The  delicate,  bare 
branches  of  the  elms  were  etched  against  a  blazing 
west.  Above,  the  metallic  sky  hung  cold  and 
clear.  A  few  students  were  crossing  the  lawns, 
tripping  and  slipping  on  the  paths  of  gray  and 
glittering  ice.  In  the  wide  street  beyond,  a  num- 
ber of  people  were  breasting  the  blast,  valiantly 
prepared  for  a  mile's  walk  to  the  evening  mail, 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  11 

The  night  threatened  to  be  very  cold.  Across 
the  street,  the  Professors'  houses  stood  in  a  seri- 
ous row  Beyond  them,  the  horizon  line  ran  to  Wa- 
chusett,  undisturbed ;  and  the  hill  and  valley 
view  melted  into  noble  outlines  under  snow  and 
sun. 

Emanuel  Bayard  stood  a,t  his  window  looking 
across  to  the  hills.  The  setting  sun  shone  full  in 
his  face.  I  see  no  reason  why  one  should  hesitate 
to  give  a  man  full  credit  for  personal  beauty  be- 
cause one  chances  to  be  his  biographer,  and  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  the  attractiveness  of  this  young 
man  was  extraordinary. 

He  was  of  slender  build,  but  tall,  and  with 
good  square  shoulders  that  sturdily  supported  his 
head.  He  had  the  forehead  of  a  student,  the 
carriage  of  a  man  of  society,  and  the  beauty  of  a 
myth,  or  a  saint,  which  may  be  the  same  thing. 
His  complexion  was  a  trifle  fair  for  a  man ;  his 
brown  hair,  shot  with  gold,  curled  defiantly  all 
over  his  head ;  when  he  first  decided  to  study 
theology,  he  used  to  try  to  brush  it  straight,  but 
he  might  as  well  have  tried  to  brush  Antinous 
out  of  fable.  He  had  bright,  human,  healthy 
color,  and,  as  has  been  intimated,  a  remarkable 
smile.  His  lips  were  delicately  cut ;  they  curved 
and  trembled  with  almost  pitiful  responsiveness 
to  impressions.  Thought  and  feeling  chased  over 
his  face  like  the  tints  of  a  vibrating  prism  cast 
on  a  white  surface.  It  was  in  his  eyes  that  the 
extreme  sensitiveness  of  his  nature  seemed  to  con- 


12  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

centrate  and  strengthen  into  repose.  His  nearest 
friend  might  have  said  of  Bayard's  eyes,  They 
are  hazel,  and  said  no  more.  Some  stranger  in 
the  street,  to  whom  the  perception  of  the  unusual 
was  given,  might  have  passed  him,  and  said,  That 
man's  eyes  are  living  light.  Indeed,  strangers 
often  moved  back  and  looked  again  at  him ;  while 
people  who  knew  him  best  sometimes  turned  away 
from  him  uncomfortably,  as  if  he  blinded  them. 
This  power  to  dazzle,  which  we  often  see  in  merely 
clear-minded  persons  with  a  well-painted  iris,  may 
not  be  associated  in  the  least  with  the  higher 
nature,  but  even  the  contrary.  It  was  the  pecu- 
liarity about  Bayard  that  his  eye  seemed  to  be 
the  highest  as  well  as  the  brightest  fact  in  any 
given  personal  situation.  Neither  a  prophet  nor 
a  cut-throat  would  for  an  instant  have  questioned 
the  spiritual  supremacy  of  the  man. 

In  Paris,  once,  he  was  thrown  in  the  way  of  a 
celebrated  adventuress,  and  she  confessed  to  him, 
sobbing,  as  if  he  had  been  her  priest,  within  an 
hour.  Rank  is  of  the  soul,  and  Bayard's  was 
unmistakable.  Beauty  like  his  is  as  candid,  in 
its  way,  as  certain  forms  of  vice.  It  is  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  conceal  his  descent  who  is  born  a 
spiritual  prince. 

But  the  young  man  was  thinking  nothing  of 
this  as  he  faced  the  cold  and  gleaming  sky,  to 
see  the  sun  drop  just  to  the  north  of  Wachusett, 
as  he  had  done  so  many  winter  nights  since  he 
took  possession  of  the  northwest  corner  of  Galilee 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  13 

Hall.  If  his  musing  had  been  strictly  translated 
into  words,  "I  must  prove  my  rank,"  he  would 
have  said. 

As  he  stood  mute  and  rapt,  seeming  to  bestow 
more  brilliance  than  he  took  from  it  on  the  after 
glow  that  filled  the  grim  old  room,  his  eye  rested 
on  the  line  of  Professors'  houses  that  stood  be- 
tween him  and  his  sunset,  and  musingly  traveled 
from  ancient  roof  to  roof  till  it  reached  the  house 
behind  which  the  sun  had  dropped.  This  house 
was  not  built  by  the  pious  founders,  and  had  a 
certain  impertinent,  worldly  air  as  of  a  Professor 
with  property,  or  a  committee  of  the  Trustees  who 
conceded  more  than  was  expected  by  the  West- 
minster Catechism  to  contemporaneous  ease  and 
architecture.  It  was  in  fact  a  fashionable  modern 
building,  a  Queen  Anne  country  house,  neither 
more  nor  less. 

As  Bayard's  glance  reached  the  home  of  his 
theological  Professor  it  idly  fell  upon  the  second- 
story  front  window,  where  signs  of  motion  chanced 
to  arrest  his  attention.  In  this  window  the  drawn 
shade  was  slowly  raised,  and  the  lace  drapery 
curtains  parted.  A  woman's  figure  stood  for  a 
moment  between  the  curtains.  There  were  west- 
ern windows,  also,  to  the  room,  and  the  still 
burning  light  shot  through  from  side  to  side  of 
the  wing.  In  it  she  could  be  seen  clearly :  she 
stood  with  raised  arm  and  hand ;  there  was  some- 
thing so  warm  and  womanly  and  rich  in  the 
outlines  of  that  remote  figure  that  the  young  man 


14  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

would  have  been  no  young  man  if  his  glance  had 
not  rested  upon  it. 

After  a  moment's  perceptible  hesitation  he 
turned  away ;  then  stepped  back  and  drew  down 
his  old  white  cotton  shade. 


n. 


MORE  than  thirty  years  before  the  day  of  this 
biography,  a  blue-eyed  girl  sat  in  her  brother's 
home  in  Beacon  Street,  weighing  the  problem 
which  even  then  had  begun  to  shake  the  social 
world  every  year  at  crocus  time,  Where  shall  we 
spend  the  summer  ? 

When  Mary  Worcester's  gentle  mind,  waver- 
ing between  the  hills  and  the  shore  with  the  pleas- 
ant agitation  of  a  girl  who  has  never  known  any 
compulsion  severer  than  her  own  young  choice 
upon  her  fate,  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
mountain  village  which  her  mother  used  to  fancy, 
it  seemed  the  least  important  of  acts  or  facts,  and 
was  so  regarded  by  her  brother ;  for  Hermon 
Worcester  was  a  preoccupied  young  man,  more 
absorbed  in  adding  to  his  fortune-,  inherited  in 
wool,  than  in  studying  the  natural  history  of  an 
attractive  orphaned  younger  sister,  left,  obviously, 
by  Providence  upon  his  hands. 

So,  properly  chaperoned  and  luxuriously  out- 
fitted, to  the  hills  went  Mary  Worcester  that  con= 
elusive  summer  of  her  life ;  and  the  village  of 
Bethlehem  —  a  handful  then,  a  hamlet,  if  one 
should  compare  it  with  the  luxurious  and  impor- 
tant place  of  resort  known  to  our  own  day  —  re- 


16  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

ceived,  as  unconsciously  as  she  gave,  the  presence 
of  this  young  visitor  whose  lot  was  destined  to 
become  so  fair  a  leaf  bound  in  with  the  village 
history. 

They  are  not  usually  the  decisions  to  which  we 
give  the  most  thought  that  most  control  our  lives, 
but  those  to  which  we  give  the  least ;  and  this  city 
girl  glided  into  her  country  holiday  as  unaware  as 
the  rest  of  us  are  when  we  cross  the  little  misty 
space  that  separates  freedom  from  fate. 

She  was  not  an  extraordinary  girl ;  unless  we 
should  consider  extraordinary  a  certain  kind  of 
moral  beauty  to  which  the  delicacy  of  her  face 
and  form  gave  marked  expression.  Such  beauty 
she  assuredly  possessed.  Her  head  had  a  certain 
poise  never  to  be  found  except  in  women  to  whom 
we  may  apply  the  beautiful  adjective  "high- 
minded."  Her  eyes  and  the  curve  of  her  lip  bore 
this  out ;  and  she  had  the  quality  of  voice  no 
more  to  be  copied  by  a  woman  of  the  world  than 
a  pure  heart  is  to  be  imitated  by  a  schemer. 

She  was  not  an  intellectual  woman  in  our 
modern  sense  of  the  word.  She  was  a  bright, 
gentle  girl ;  more  devout  than  her  mates  who  rode 
with  her  on  picnics  from  the  hotel,  but  as  ready 
to  be  happy  as  the  rest ;  she  had  a  certain  sweet 
merriment,  or  merry  sweetness,  peculiar  to  herself, 
and  of  which  life  and  trouble  never  entirely 
robbed  her.  If  we  add  to  this  that  she  had  the 
angelic  obstinacy  sometimes  to  be  found  in  unob 
trusive  and  amiable  people,  her  story,  so  far  as  it 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  17 

concerns  us,  need  not  be  the  enigma  that  it  always 
remained  to  many  of  those  who  knew  her  best. 
In  this  summer  of  which  we  speak,  when  Miss 
Worcester  had  been  for  a  couple  of  weeks  among 
the  hills,  it  befell  that  her  party,  for  some  cause 
not  important  enough  to  trace,  moved  into  lodg- 
ings across  the  road  from  the  hotel,  where  they 
commanded  a  cottage  otherwise  occupied  only  by 
the  proprietor  or  tenant  of  the  house.  The  cot- 
tage, after  the  fashion  of  its  kind,  was  white  of 
surface,  green  of  blinds,  and  calm  of  demeanor. 
Its  low  front  windows  swept  the  great  horizon 
of  Bethlehem  without  obstruction,  and  when  one 
drew  the  green-paper  shade  of  the  upper  chamber 
in  the  rear,  a  tall  pine  —  one  of  fourscore,  the 
picket  of  a  rich  and  sombre  grove  —  brushed  into 
one's  face,  and  eyed  one  like  a  grave,  superior 
rustic  who  knew  his  worth  and  one's  own,  and  was 
not  to  be  distanced. 

Mary  Worcester,  in  a  white,  thin  dress,  was  sit- 
ting by  this  window  one  July  day,  looking  down 
on  the  long  fingers  of  the  pine  bough,  when  she 
was  disturbed  by  a  sudden  agitation  in  the  green 
heart  of  the  tree.  The  boughs  shook  and  parted, 
and  the  branch  that  lay  over  upon  her  window-sill 
trembled,  yielded,  started,  gave  a  smart,  stinging 
blow  upon  her  bending  cheek,  and  swept  aside . 
She  sprang  back  to  save  her  eyes,  and,  in  doing 
so,  perceived  the  top  round  of  a  ladder  rising  from 
the  tree. 

She  was  startled  for  the  instant ;  but  observing 


18  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

that  the  ladder  continued  to  rise  steadily,  and  had 
evidently  higher  aspirations  than  her  window-sill, 
she  remained  where  she  was.  At  this  moment  a 
voice  from  below  delicately  suggested  that  if  any 
of  the  ladies  were  upstairs  they  might  like  to  draw 
the  shade,  as  some  repairs  were  necessary  upon 
the  roof.  The  speaker  was  sorry  to  incommode 
anybody,  and  would  withdraw  as  soon  as  possible. 

Owing,  perhaps,  to  that  kind  of  modesty  which 
feels  an  embarrassment  at  being  recognized,  the 
young  girl  did  not  draw  her  shade,  but  moved 
into  the  adjoining  room  while  the  carpenter 
climbed  the  ladder.  The  doors  and  windows  were 
open  through,  and  she  stood  for  a  moment  un- 
certain, her  light  dress  swaying  in  the  draught. 
Then,  turning,  she  looked  back  at  the  mechanic. 
At  that  moment  his  face  and  shoulders  were  on, 
a  level  with  her  window.  To  her  surprise,  she 
recognized  the  man  as  their  host,  the  owner  of  the 
cottage. 

In  a  few  moments  a  stout  arm  struck  the  roof 
over  her  head,  and  resounding  blows  shook  the 
cottage  sturdily,  while  a  few  old  shingles  flew  past 
her  window  and  troubled  the  pine-tree,  which, 
shivering  at  the  indignity,  cast  them  to  the  moss 
below. 

To  escape  the  clamor,  Miss  Worcester  tossed 
on  her  straw  hat  and  fled  below  stairs.  Her 
friends  were  all  out  and  the  house  was  empty. 
She  wandered  about  such  of  the  lower  rooms  as 
she  had  the  right  to  enter,  for  a  few  moments,  and 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  19 

then  strolled  out  aimlessly  into  the  grove.  She 
flung  herself  down  on  the  pine  needles  in  the  idle 
reverie  of  youth  and  ease  and  health ;  no  graver 
purpose  in  life  than  to  escape  the  noise  of  a  shin- 
gler's  hammer  appeared  to  her.  When  the  blows 
upon  the  roof  had  ceased  she  rose  and  went  back. 
At  the  foot  of  the  pine-tree,  with  his  ladder  on  his 
shoulder,  unexpectedly  stood  the  man. 

He  was  a  well-built  man,  young  and  attractive 
to  the  eye.  He  did  not  look  as  rugged  as  his 
class,  and  showed,  proportionately,  more  refine- 
ment. His  eyes  were  dark  and  large,  and  had  the 
sadness  of  a  misunderstood  dog.  He  raised  them 
in  one  swift  look  to  the  young  girl.  She  drifted 
by  in  her  white  dress  with  her  straw  hat  on  her 
arm  ;  her  hair  was  tumbled  and  bright ;  a  little 
spot  on  one  cheek,  where  she  had  rested  it  upon 
her  arm,  burned  red.  She  smiled  and  said  some- 
thing, she  did  not  know  what.  The  mechanic 
lifted  his  old  straw  hat :  the  little  act  had  the  ease 
of  town-bred  gentlemen  ;  something  about  it  sur- 
prised the  young  lady,  and  she  lingered  a  moment. 

"  And  so  you  mend  the  roof  for  us  ?  "  she  said, 
with  her  merry  sweetness.  "  We  thank  you,  sir." 

"It  is  my  business,"  replied  the  mechanic  a 
little  coldly.  But  his  eyes  were  not  cold,  and 
they  regarded  her  with  deferent  though  daring 
steadiness. 

"  You  are  then  the  carpenter.  Are  you  sure  ?  " 
she  persisted  audaciously. 

"  That,"    replied   her  host,  after   a  silence   in 


20  A    SINGULAR   LIFE. 

which  she  heard  her  own  heart  leap,  "  is  for  you 
to  determine."  He  bowed,  shouldered  the  ladder 
which  he  had  let  drop,  and  passed  on  into  the 
shed  with  it.  His  lodger,  with  burning  cheeks, 
fled  to  her  room,  and  drew  down  the  green-paper- 
shade. 

The  following  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  city 
lodgers  in  a  party  attended  the  village  church. 
Mary  Worcester,  daintily  dressed  and  devoutly 
inclined,  sat  with  her  head  bowed  upon  the  rail  of 
the  pew  before  her.  When  the  village  choir  re- 
cited the  opening  fugue  she  did  not  move ;  but 
when  the  minister's  voice  broke  the  pleasant 
silence  that  followed,  and  the  invocatory  prayer 
filled  the  meeting-house,  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the 
pulpit,  and  behold,  he  who  had  shingled  the  cot- 
tage yesterday  was  the  preacher  of  to-day. 

The  services  took  their  usual  course.  The  scent 
oT  lilacs  came  in  at  the  open  windows  of  the  coun- 
try church.  The  rustic  choir  sang.  The  minister 
had  an  educated  voice  and  agreeable  manner.  He 
did  not  preach  a  great  sermon,  but  he  spoke  in  a 
manly  fashion,  read  the  Bible  without  affectation, 
and  prayed  like  a  believer.  It  was  not  until  the 
close  of  the  service  that  he  suffered  his  glance  to 
rest  upon  the  pew  occupied  by  his  lodgers,  and 
thus  he  perceived  the  deepened  color  and  the 
gentle  agitation  of  her  face.  Their  eyes  met,  and 
the  fate  of  their  lives  was  sealed. 

At  first  they  read  their  idyl  with  terror  in  their 
joy.  She  by  her  experience  of  the  world,  he  by 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  21 

his  inexperience  thereof,  knew  what  it  meant  for 
them  to  plight  their  troth.  But  Almighty  Love 
had  laid  its  hand  upon  them :  riot  the  false  god, 
nor  the  sorcerer,  nor  the  worldling,  nor  the  mathe- 
matician, that  steal  the  name,  —  none  of  these 
masqueraders  moved  them. 

Mary  Worcester  and  Joseph  Bayard  sat  undei 
the  pine-trees  of  the  grove  behind  the  minister's 
cottage  and  faced  their  fate. 

u  I  am  a  country  parson,"  said  the  young  man 
proudly,  "and  a  carpenter,  as  your  brother  will 
remind  you.  I  learned  the  trade  to  put  myself 
through  college,  —  a  fresh-water  college  up  in  Ver- 
mont. Never  mind  the  name.  I  doubt  if  he  has 
ever  heard  of  it.  My  father  was  the  schoolmaster 
of  our  village.  He  was  poor.  My  mother  was  an 
invalid  for  twenty  years.  It  cost  us  a  good  deal 
to  take  care  of  her.  After  he  died,  you  see  it  fell 
to  me.  I  did  the  best  I  could  for  her.  She  died 
this  spring.  I  never  could  go  very  far  away  from 
her.  She  liked  to  see  me  often,  and  it  cost  a  good 
deal  to  get  suitable  nurses.  She  needed  other 
things,  of  course.  I  was  in  debt,  too,  for  my  edu- 
cation. I've  been  paying  that  off  by  degrees. 
Take  it  all,  I  've  got  run  down,  somehow.  Mother 
used  to  say  I  had  her  constitution.  The  people 
here  called  me  to  supply  awhile,  but  they  said  I 
had  too  poor  health  to  settle  without  trial.  I 
don't  wonder.  They  don't  want  a  minister  to  die 
of  consumption  on  their  hands." 


22  A    SINGULAR   LIFE. 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  cast  a  bitter  look  at 
the  young  girl's  drooping  face  to  see  how  these 
blows  struck  that  gentle  surface.  She  did  not  lift 
it,  but  by  the  space  of  a  breath  she  seemed  to  stir 
and  tremble  toward  him. 

"  I  love  you,"  said  the  young  man,  flinging  hk 
thin  hands  out  as  if  he  thrust  her  from  him.  "  A 
carpenter-parson,  without  a  dollar  or  a  pulpit  he 
can  call  his  own,  and  some  day  doomed  to  be  a 
sick  man  at  that !  Go !  I  will  never  ask  you  to 
be  my  wife.  Beacon  Street !  Do  you  think  there 
is  a  man  in  Beacon  Street  who  will  ever  love  you 
as  I  do  ?  Try  it.  Go  and  try.  Go  back  to  your 
brother.  Tell  him  I  scorned  to  ask  you  to  marry 
me  — •  for  your  sake,  oh  my  Love !  " 

His  voice  fell  into  the  whisper  of  unutterable 
passion  and  sacrifice,  and  he  covered  his  face  and 
groaned.  Then  Mary  Worcester  lifted  her  un- 
worldly eyes  and  looked  upon  him  as  a  woman 
looks  but  once  in  life,  and  upon  but  one. 

"  But  if,"  she  said,  "  I  should  ask  you  ?  " 

He  gasped,  and  sprang  to  his  feet.  Then  he 
saw  how  she  trembled  before  him.  And  she 
stretched  up  her  arms.  So  he  took  her  to  his 
heart ;  and  before  the  snow  fell  upon  the  hills  of 
Bethlehem  she  had  become  his  wife. 

Life  dealt  with  them  as  the  coldest  head  on 
Beacon  Street  might  have  predicted.  Her  brother 
fell  at  first  into  burning  anger,  and  then  into  a 
frozen  rage.  When  the  thing  became  inevitable, 
he  treated  her  civilly,  for  he  was  a  gentleman? 


A    SINGULAR   LIFE.  23 

more  than  that  she  never  sought  from  him,  and 
did  not  receive.  She  married  her  country  parson 
intelligently,  deliberately,  and  joyously,  and  shared 
his  lot  without  an  outcry.  She  knew  one  year  of 
blessedness,  and  treasured  it  as  a  proof  of  para- 
dise to  come.  She  knew  one  such  year  as  the 
saddest  of  us  would  die  to  know,  and  the  gladdest 
could  not  look  upon  without  a  pang  of  divine 
envy.  She  knew  what  love,  elect,  supreme,  and 
unspotted  from  the  world,  as  the  old  words  say, 
can  give  a  woman,  and  can  do  for  her.  And  then 
she  reached  the  chapter  where  the  plot  turns  in 
the  beautiful,  delirious  story,  and  she  read  the 
sequel  through,  —  a  brave,  proud  woman,  calling 
herself  blessed  to  the  end. 

The  minister's  health  failed,  as  was  to  be  fore- 
seen. He  could  not  keep  his  parish,  "as  she 
might  have  known,"  said  Hermon  Worcester  to 
the  lady  (her  name  was  Rollins,  by  the  way)  who 
had  chaperoned  that  summer  party,  and  whom  the 
brother  had  never  succeeded  in  forgiving.  Joseph 
Bayard  descended  from  his  pulpit  to -his  carpen- 
ter's bench,  and  his  high-born  wife  did  not  protest. 
"  A  man  must  feel  that  he  is  at  work,"  she  said. 
She  mentioned  the  circumstance  to  her  brother 
proudly  when  she  acknowledged  the  last  check; 
for  she  received  her  mother's  inheritance  duly,  and 
spent  it  rapidly.  She  supplied  the  ailing  man 
with  such  comforts  as  Bethlehem  had  never  seen. 
She  lavished  all  the  attainable  luxuries  familiar  to 
her  youth  upon  the  invalid  in  the  frozen  mountain 


24  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

home.  Nothing  and  no  one  could  restrain  her.  It 
was  her  way,  and  love's.  That  divine  compassion 
which  takes  possession  of  a  woman's  soul  when 
passion  subsides  from  it  swept  a  torrent  of  pity 
and  tenderness  about  the  enfeebled  man.  She 
persuaded  him  at  last  out  of  the  mountain  cottage 
which  had  watched  their  courtship  and  knowr 
their  honeymoon,  and  carried  him  to  Italy,  where 
she  played  the  last  desperate  chances  in  the  game 
of  life  and  love  and  death  that  thousands  of  women 
have  staked  and  lost  before  her. 

In  the  midst  of  this  experiment  the  two  re- 
turned abruptly  to  America,  and  hid  themselves 
in  the  Bethlehem  cottage ;  and  there,  in  the  late 
and  bitter  mountain  spring,  their  boy  was  born. 

The  baby  was  a  year  old  when  his  father  died. 
Mary  Bayard  looked  at  the  frozen  hills  across  the 
freezing  grave.  In  all  the  world  only  the  moun- 
tains seemed  to  understand  he*r.  Her  brother 
came  up  to  the  funeral,  and  politely  buried  the 
carpenter,  whose  widow  was  civilly  invited  to  re- 
turn to  the  home  of  her  youth ;  but  she  thanked 
him,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  will  stay  here  among  our  people.  They  love 
me,  some  of  them.  They  all  loved  him.  I  have 
friends  here.  There  is  no  kindness  kinder  than 
that  in  the  hearts  of  country  neighbors.  I  've 
found  that  out.  Beacon  Street  has  forgotten  me 
long  ago,  Hermon.  There  is  nothing  left  in  com- 
mon between  us  now." 

"  At  least  there  is  your  birth  and  training  1  " 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  26 

exclaimed  her  brother,  flushing  hotly.  "  I  should 
think,"  glancing  around  the  white  cottage,  crowded 
with  little  luxuries  that  love  and  ingenuity  could 
hardly  convert  into  comforts  (by  his  standard  of 
comfort)  in  that  place  and  climate,  —  "  I  should 
think  you  would  like  to  come  back  to  a  good 
Magee  furnace  and  a  trained  maid !  " 

"  There  have  been  times  "  —  she  began  slowly, 
but  checked  herself.  "  Those  are  gone  by  now. 
This  is  the  place  where  I  have  been  a  happy 
woman." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  replied  the  man 
of  business  in  a  softer  tone.  He  looked  at  her  a 
trifle  wistfully. 

A  certain  tenderness  for  her  returned  in  his 
heart  after  that.  He  cared  for  her  as  he  could, 
sometimes  taking  the  chilly  journey  to  see  her  in 
winter,  and  spending  a  part  of  every  summer  in 
the  Bethlehem  cottage. 

Thus  he  came  to  discover  in  himself  a  root  of 
interest  in  the  boy.  When  the  child  was  three 
years  old,  he  induced  his  sister  to  come  to  Boston 
to  consult  a  famous  physician. 

t&  She  is  dying  of  no  disease,"  he  told  the  doctor 
irritably.  "  She  had  fine  health.  That  ailing  fel- 
low wore  it  all  out.  He  was  a  heavy  burden.  She 
carried  everything  —  for  years.  She  spent  almost 
all  her  property  on  him :  it  was  not  trusteed ;  it  is 
nearly  gone ;  I  could  n't  help  it.  She  has  spent 
herself  in  the  same  way.  She  is  that  kind  of 
woman." 


26  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

"  I  have  seen  such,"  replied  the  physician  gently, 
"  but  not  too  many  of  them.  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  at  the  outset  that  I  can  probably  do  nothing 
for  her." 

Nor  could  he.  She  lingered,  smiling  and  quiet, 
in  her  brother's  house  for  a  few  months ;  then 
begged  to  be  taken  home.  Fires  were  kindled  in 
the  mountain  cottage,  and  the  affectionate  villagers 
brought  in  their  house-plants  to  welcome  her ;  and 
there,  on  the  morning  after  her  return,  they  found 
her  with  her  cheek  turned  upon  the  soft  curls  of 
the  child's  head.  The  boy  was  asleep.  But  he 
waked  when  he  was  spoken  to.  It  was  his  uncle 
who  took  him  from  his  mother's  arms. 

They  buried  her  beside  her  husband ;  and  her 
husband's  people  wept  about  her  grave,  for  they 
had  loved  this  strange  and  gentle  lady;  and  they 
cut  their  white  geraniums  and  heliotrope  to  bring  to 
the  funeral,  and  sighed  when  they  saw  the  cottage 
under  the  pine  grove  stripped  and  closed.  For  the 
boy  was  taken  to  the  home  of  his  mother's  girl- 
hood, and  reared  there  as  she  had  been  ;  delicately, 
and  as  became  a  lad  of  gentle  birth,  who  will  do 
what  is  expected  of  him,  and  live  like  the  rest  of 
his  world. 


III. 


IT  had  always  been  considered  a  mistake  that 
the  Professors'  houses  stood  on  the  "  morning  side  '' 
of  the  street.  But  this,  like  many  another  archi- 
tectural or  social  criticism,  was  of  more  interest 
to  the  critic  than  to  the  criticised.  In  point  of 
fact,  the  western  faces  of  the  dwellings  consecrated 
to  the  Faculty  received  the  flood  tide  of  the  sea 
of  sun  that  rose  and  ebbed  between  Cesarea  and 
Wachusett.  A  man's  study,  a  child's  nursery,  a 
woman's  sewing-room,  fled  the  front  of  the  house 
as  a  matter  of  course ;  and  the  "  afternoon  side  " 
of  the  dwelling  welcomed  them  bountifully. 

As  Professor  Carruth  had  been  heard  to  say,  that 
side  of  the  street  on  which  a  man  is  born  may  deter- 
mine his  character  and  fate  beyond  repeal.  The 
observation,  if  true,  is  tenfold  truer  of  a  woman,  to 
whom  a  house  is  a  shell,  a  prison,  or  a  chrysalis. 

The  Professor's  daughter,  who  had  not  been 
born  in  Cesarea,  but  in  the  city  of  New  York,  took 
turns  at  viewing  her  father's  home  in  one  of  these 
threefold  aspects.  On  that  winter  day  of  which 
we  have  already  spoken,  she  might,  if  urged  to  it, 
have  selected  the  least  complimentary  of  the  three 
terms.  The  day  had  been  bleak,  bright,  and  inter- 
minable. She  had  tried  to  take  the  morning  walk  to 


28  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

the  post-office,  which  all  able-bodied  Cesareans  peni- 
tentially  performed  six  days  in  the  week ;  and  had 
been  blown  home  in  that  state  just  so  far  from  add- 
ing another  to  the  list  of  "  deaths  from  exposure  " 
that  one  gets  no  sympathy,  and  yet  so  near  to  this 
result  that  one  must  sit  over  the  register  the  rest 
of  the  morning  to  thaw  out. 

After  dinner  she  had  conscientiously  resumed 
her  study  of  Herbert  Spencer's  Law  of  Rhythm,  but 
had  tossed  the  book  away  impatiently,  —  she  was 
metaphysical  only  when  she  was  bored,  —  and  had 
joined  her  mother  at  the  weekly  mending-basket. 
The  cold,  she  averred,  had  struck  in.  Her  brain 
was  turning  to  an  icicle  —  like  that.  She  pointed 
to  the  snow-man  which  the  boys  in  the  fitting-school 
had  built  in  front  of  the  pump  that  supplied  their 
dormitories  with  ice-water  for  toilet  uses  ;  this  was 
carried  the  length  of  the  street  in  dripping  pails 
whose  overflow  froze  upon  one's  boots. 

There  had  been  a  rain  before  this  last  freeze, 
and  the  head  of  the  snow-man  (carefully  moulded, 
and  quite  Greek)  had  turned  into  a  solid  ball  of 
ice. 

This  chilly  gentleman  rose  imposingly  from 
behind  a  desk  of  snow.  Manuscripts  of  sleet  lay 
in  his  frozen  hand.  An  old  silk  hat,  well  glazed 
with  drippings  from  the  elm-tree,  was  pitched  irrev- 
erently upon  the  back  of  his  head. 

"They  say,"  replied  Mrs.  Carruth  complain- 
ingly,  "  that  the  snow-man  is  meant  to  take  off  one 
of  the  Professors." 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  29 

"  Do  they  ?  I  should  think  he  might  be.  Which 
one  ? "  answered  the  Professor's  daughter.  Her 
languid  eyes  warmed  into  merriment.  "  I  call 
that  fun." 

"  I  call  it  irreverent,"  sighed  the  Professor's 
wife.  "  I  call  it  profane." 

"  Now,  Mother !  "  The  young  lady  laid  a  green, 
theological  stocking  across  her  shapely  knee,  and 
pulled  the  toe  through  the  foot  argumentatively, 
"  Don't  you  think  that  is  a  little  over-emphasized  ?  " 

Mrs.  Carruth  lifted  her  mild,  feminine  counte- 
nance from  that  shirt  of  the  Professor's  which  she 
always  found  absorbing,  —  the  one  whose  button- 
holes gave  out,  while  the  "mttons  stayed  on.  She 
regarded  her  daughter  with  a  puzzled  disapproval. 
She  was  not  used  to  such  phrases  as  "  over-empha- 
sis "  when  she  was  young. 

"  Helen,  Helen,"  she  complained,  "  you  do  not 
realize  what  a  trial  you  are  to  me.  If  there  is  any- 
thing sacrilegious  or  heretical  to  be  found  any- 
where, you  are  sure  to  —  to  —  you  are  certain  to 
find  it  interesting,"  ended  the  mother  vaguely. 

"  See,  Mother!  See  !"  interrupted  Helen.  Her 
laugh  bubbled  merrily  through  the  sewing-room. 
"  Just  look  out  of  the  window,  and  see !  The 
boys  have  stuck  a  whisk  broom  for  a  feather  in 
the  snow  professor's  hat !  And  now  they  're  giv- 
ing him  spectacles  and  a  fountain  pen.  What 
delicious  heresy,  isn't  it,  Mother?  Come  and 
look!" 

But  after  these  trifling  and  too  frequent  conflicts 


30  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

with  her  mother,  Helen  never  failed  to  feel  a  cer- 
tain reaction  and  depression.  She  evaded  the 
mending-basket  that  afternoon  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  slipped  into  her  own  room  ;  which,  as  we  have 
said,  was  in  a  wing  of  the  house,  and  looked  from 
east  to  west.  She  could  not  see  the  snow  professor 
here.  Nobody  now  accused  her  of  heresy.  The 
shouts  of  the  boys  had  begun  to  die  away.  Only 
the  mountains  and  the  great  intervale  were  peace- 
fully visible  from  the  warm  window.  Through 
the  cold  one  the  Theological  Seminary  occupied 
the  perspective  solidly. 

Nature  had  done  a  good  deal  for  the  Christian 
religion,  or  at  least  for  that  view  of  it  represented 
by  our  Seminary,  when  that  institution  was  estab- 
lished at  Cesarea,  a  matter  of  nearly  a  century 
ago.  But  art  had  not  in  this  instance  proved  her- 
self the  handmaid  of  religion.  The  theological 
buildings,  a  row  of  three,  —  Galilee  and  Damascus 
Halls  to  right  and  left  of  the  ancient  chapel, — 
rose  grimly  against  the  cold  Cesarea  sky.  These 
buildings  were  all  of  brick,  red,  rectangular,  and 
unrelieved ;  as  barren  of  ornament  or  broken  lines 
as  a  packing-box,  and  yet  curiously  possessed  of  a 
certain  dignity  of  their  own  ;  such  as  we  see  in 
aged  country  folk  unfashionably  dressed,  but  sure 
of  their  local  position.  Not  a  tremor  seemed  ever 
to  disturb  the  calm,  red  faces  of  these  old  build- 
ings, when  the  pretty  chapel  and  the  graceful 
library  of  modern  taste  crept  in  under  the  elms  of 
the  Seminary  green  to  console  the  spirit  of  the 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  31 

contemporary  Cesarean,  who  has  visited  the  Louvre 
and  the  Vatican  as  often  as  the  salary  will  allow ; 
who  has  tickets  to  the  Symphony  Concerts  in  Bos- 
ton, and  feels  no  longer  obliged  to  conceal  the 
fact  that  he  occasionally  witnesses  a  Shakespear- 
ean play. 

Helen  Carruth,  for  one,  did  not  object  to  the 
old  red  boxes,  and  held  them  in  respect ;  not  for 
their  architectural  qualities,  it  must  be  owned,  nor 
because  of  the  presence  therein  of  a  hundred 
young  men  for  whose  united  or  separate  person- 
alities she  had  never  cared  a  fig.  But  of  the 
Cesarean  sunsets,  which  are  justly  famous,  she 
was  observant  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  girl  who 
has  so  little  social  occupation  that  a  beautiful 
landscape  is  still  an  object  of  attention,  even  of 
affection.  And  where  does  reflected  sunset  take 
to  itself  the  particular  glory  that  it  takes  on 
Cesarea  Hill  ? 

The  Professor's  daughter  was  in  the  habit  of 
watching  from  her  eastern  window  to  see  that 
row  of  old  buildings  take  fire  from  the  western 
sky  behind  her ;  window  after  window,  four  stories 
of  them,  thirty-two  to  a  front  on  either  side,  and 
the  solemn  disused  chapel  in  the  midst.  It  would 
have  been  a  pleasant  sight  to  any  delicate  eye; 
but  to  the  girl,  with  her  religiously  trained  imagi- 
nation and  unoccupied  fancy,  it  was  a  beautiful 
and  a  poetic  one.  She  had  learned  to  watch  for 
it  on  sunny  days  in  her  lonely  Cesarea  winters,  — 
between  her  visits  to  New  York  or  Boston.  Now 


32  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Damascus  Hall,  and  now  Galilee,  received  the 
onset  of  flame ;  now  this  floor  reflected  it,  and 
now  that  ;  certain  windows  became  refracting 
crystals,  and  flung  the  gorgeous  color  back ;  cer- 
tain others  drew  it  in  and  drank  it  down  into 
their  glowing  hearts.  One  —  belonging  to  a 
northwest  corner  room  in  Galilee  Hall  —  blazed 
magnificently  on  that  evening  of  which  we  telL 
It  attracted  her  eye,  and  held  it,  for  the  fiery 
flood  rolled  up  against  that  old  sash  and  seemed 
to  break  there,  and  pour  in,  deep  into  the  unseen 
room,  deeper  than  any  other  spot  could  hold. 
That  window  breathed  fire  as  martyrs  do,  in 
ecstasy.  It  seemed  to  inhale  and  exhale  beauty 
and  death  like  a  living  thing  whose  doom  was 
glory,  and  whose  glory  was  doom.  But  the  splen- 
did panorama  was  always  swift ;  she  had  to  catch 
it  while  it  lasted  ;  moments  unrolled  and  furled 
it.  She  stood  with  uplifted  arm  between  her  lace 
curtains  ;  her  eyes  smiled,  and  her  lips  were 
parted.  The  old  Bible  similes  of  her  childhood 
came  inevitably  even  upon  her  lighter  moods.  It 
was  not  religious  emotion,  but  the  power  of  asso- 
ciation and  poetic  perception  which  made  her  say 
aloud  :  — 

"  And  the  city  had  no  need  of  the  sun  ...  to 
shine  in  it,  for  the  glory  of  God  did  lighten  it." 

As  the  words  fell  from  her  lips  the  sun  dropped 
beyond  Wachusett.  The  fire  flashed,  and  ran, 
and  faded.  Cold,  dull,  delicate  colors  replaced 
the  glory  on  Galilee  Hall ;  the  burst  of  gold  had 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  33 

burned  out  and  melted ;  the  tints  of  cool  precious 
stones  crept  upon  the  window  whose  display  had 
pleased  her.  She  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes, 
for  she  was  blinded  by  the  dazzling  effect.  When 
she  looked  again,  she  noticed  that  the  old  white 
shade  in  the  northwest  corner  room  was  drawn. 

She  turned  away,  feeling  an  unreasonable  sense 
of  discomfort,  as  if  she  had  been  rebuffed  in 
an  unconscious  intrusion.  At  that  moment  she 
heard  her  father  moving  about  his  study,  which 
was  below  her  room.  The  sound  of  flying  slippers 
and  the  creak  of  his  whirling  study-chair  indicated 
that  his  work  was  over  for  the  day,  and  that  he 
was  about  to  take  his  evening  pilgrimage  to  the 
post-office.  His  daughter  ran  down  to  see  him. 

He  glanced  up  from  the  arctic  overshoes  which 
he  was  tugging  on  over  his  boots,  with  a  relieved 
and  pleasant  look. 

"  Ah,  Helen !  You  are  just  in  time.  I  need 
you,  my  child.  Just  write  out  some  invitations 
for  me,  will  you  ?  —  in  your  mother's  name.  She 
seems  to  be  too  much  absorbed  in  some  domestic 
duties  to  attend  to  it,  and  I  must  have  those 
omitted  men  to  tea  this  week.  Your  mother  says 
she  can't  have  them  to-morrow  on  account  of  — 
I  have  forgotten  the  reason,  but  it  was  an  impor- 
tant one." 

"  She  has  some  preserves  to  scald  over.  Yes," 
said  Helen,  with  ripples  in  her  eyes,  "  I  think 
they  are  quinces.  At  any  rate,  it  is  of  national 
importance.  Friday,  did  you  say  ?  Certainly.  I 


34  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

will  have  them  written  by  the  time  you  have  se- 
lected your  cane,  Father.  Who  are  these  ?  The 
A's?  OrtheC's?" 

"They  are  the  B's,"  answered  the  Professor, 
looking  over  his  assortment  of  handsome  canes 
with  the  serious  interest  of  a  sophomore.  If  the 
Professor  of  Theology  had  one  human  weakness,  it 
was  for  handling  a  fine  cane.  This  luxury  was  tc 
him  what  horses,  yachts,  and  dry  wines  may  be 
to  different  men.  His  daughter  was  quite  right 
in  assuming  that  the  notes  of  invitation  would  be 
written  before  he  had  suited  himself  out  of  a  dozen 
possibilities  to  his  delicate  Oriental  grapestick  with 
the  heavy  ivory  handle. 

"They  are  the  B's,"  he  repeated  abstractedly. 
"Two  B's,  and  — yes,  one  C.  One  of  the  B's  I 
would  not  overlook  on  any  account.  He  is  that 
B  who  was  preengaged,  for  some  reason,  in  the 
autumn.  He  must  be  invited  again.  His  uncle 
is  one  of  the  Trustees.  There  's  the  catalogue ; 
you  '11  find  the  address  —  Galilee  Hall,  Bayard, 
Ernanuel.  Don't  make  a  mistake,  my  dear;  and 
I  hope  you  will  take  pains  to  be  at  home  and  help 
us  entertain  them." 

"  I  was  going  in  to  the  concert,"  said  Helen  dis- 
appointedly, pausing  with  her  pen  suspended.  "  I 
meant  to  spend  the  night  with  Clara  Rollins.  But 
—  no,  I  won't,  Father,  if  you  care  about  it." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  he  said  gently.  He 
kissed  her  as  he  went  out,  and  Helen  smiled  con- 
tentedly ;  she  was  deeply  attached  to  her  father. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  35 

In  his  home  the  Professor  of   Theology  was  the 
most  loving  and  beloved  of  men. 

There  came  up  a  warm  storm  that  week,  and  by 
Friday  Cesarea  Hill  swam  in  a  sea  of  melted  snow 
The  two  B's  and  one  C  waded  their  way  to  theii 
Professor's  house  to  tea  that  evening,  across  rills 
and  rivers  of  ice-water,  and  through  mounds  of 
slush.  Bayard  sank  over  rubbers  amid-stream 
more  than  once ;  he  wore  the  usual  evening  shoe 
of  society.  He  was  always  a  well-dressed  man, 
having  never  known  any  other  way  of  living.  It 
was  different  with  his  fellow-students.  That  one 
C,  for  example,  who  strode  across  the  Seminary 
green  in  comfort  and  rubber  boots,  had  provided, 
it  seemed,  no  other  method  of  appearance  within 
doors.  His  pantaloons  were  tucked  into  the  rub- 
ber boots  at  the  knees,  and  had  the  air  of  intend- 
ing to  stay  there. 

"  Look  here,  man ! "  gasped  Bayard,  as  the 
young  men  removed  their  overcoats  in  the  large 
and  somewhat  stately  hall  of  the  Professor's  house. 
"  You  have  forgotten  your  shoes  !  " 

"  I  have  some  slippers  in  my  pockets,  if  you 
think  them  necessary,"  replied  the  other.  "You 
know  more  about  such  things  than  I  do." 

The  speaker  produced  a  pair  of  slippers,  worked 
in  worsted  by  his  sister ;  a  white  rose  ornamented 
the  toe  of  each.  As  he  stooped  to  put  them  on, 
Bayard  observed  that  the  man  wore  a  flannel  shirt 
of  the  blue-gray  tint  at  that  time  preferred  by  day 
laborers,  and  that  he  was  guiltless  of  linen. 


36  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

The  three  guests  entered  the  drawing-room, 
headed  by  the  flannel  shirt.  The  one  C  sat  down 
on  the  largest  satin  easy-chair,  stretching  his  em- 
broidered slippers  on  the  Persian  rug  with  such 
dignified  unconsciousness  of  the  unusual  as  one 
might  go  far  to  see  outside  of  Cesarea,  and  might 
not  witness  once  in  a  lifetime  there.  Occupied 
with  the  embarrassment  of  this  little  incident, 
Bayard  did  not  notice  at  first  that  the  daughter  of 
the  house  was  absent  from  the  parlor.  He  fell  to 
talking  with  his  favorite  Professor  eagerly  ;  they 
were  deep  in  the  discussion  of  the  doctrine  of  elec- 
tion as  taught  in  a  rival  seminary,  by  a  more  lib- 
eral chair,  when  Mrs.  Carruth  drew  the  attention 
of  her  husband  to  the  gentleman  of  the  flannel 
shirt,  and  seated  herself  by  Bayard. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  very  hungry  ?  "  she  began 
in  her  literal  voice.  "We  are  waiting  for  my 
daughter.  She  attends  the  Symphony  Concerts 
Fridays,  and  the  coach  is  late  to-night  from  the 
five  o'clock  train." 

"  Oh,  that  coach  !  "  laughed  Bayard.  "/  walk 
• — if  I  want  my  supper." 

"  And  so  did  I,"  said  a  soft  voice  at  his  side. 

"  Why,  Helen,  Helen  !  "  complained  the  Profes- 
sor's wife. 

The  young  lady  stood  serenely,  awaiting  her 
father's  introduction  to  the  three  students.  She 
bowed  sedately  to  the  other  B  and  the  C.  Her 
eyes  scintillated  when  she  turned  back  to  Bayard. 
She  seemed  to  be  brimming  over  with  suppressed 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  37 

amusement.  She  took  the  chair  beside  him,  for 
her  mother  (who  never  trusted  Cesarea  service 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  old-fashioned,  housewifely 
habit  of  looking  at  her  table  before  her  guests  sat 
down)  had  slipped  from  the  room. 

"  You  walk  from  the  station  —  a  mile  —  in  this 
going?"  began  Bayard,  laughing. 

"  No ; "  she  shook  her  head.  "  I  waded.  But 
I  got  here.  The  coach  had  nine  inside  and  five  on 
top.  It  has  n't  come  yet.  I  promised  Father  I  'd 
be  here,  you  see." 

Bayard's  quick  eye  observed  that  Miss  Carruth 
was  in  dinner  dress ;  her  gown  was  silk,  and  pur- 
ple, and  fitted  her  remarkably  well ;  she  had  a 
sumptuous  figure  ;  he  reflected  that  she  had  taken 
the  time  and  trouble  to  dress  for  these  three  theo- 
logues  as  she  would  have  done  for  a  dinner  in 
town.  He  saw  that  she  gave  one  swift  glance  at 
the  man  in  the  flannel  shirt,  who  was  absorbed  in 
the  Professor's  story  about  the  ordination  of  some- 
body who  was  rejected  on  the  doctrine  of  pro- 
bation. 

But  after  that  she  looked  at  the  student's  head, 
which  was  good.  Upon  the  details  of  his  costume 
no  eye  in  the  drawing-room  rested  that  evening, 
again.  That  student  went  out  from  Cesarea  Semi- 
nary to  be  a  man  of  influence  and  intellect;  his 
name  became  a  distinguished  one,  and  in  his  prime 
society  welcomed  him  proudly.  But  if  the  Profes- 
sor's family  had  been  given  the  catalogue  and  the 
Inquisition  to  identify  him,  it  may  be  questioned 


38  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

whether  thumbscrews  would  have  wrung  his  name 
from  them.  It  being  one  of  the  opportunities  of 
Christianity  that  it  may  make  cultivated  gentle- 
men out  of  poor  and  ignorant  boys,  Cesarea  ladies 
take  pride  in  their  share  of  the  process. 

At  tea  —  for  Cesarea  still  held  to  her  country 
tradition  of  an  early  dinner  —  Bayard  found  him 
self  seated  opposite  the  Professor's  daughter.  The 
one  C  sat  beside  her,  and  she  graciously  proceeded 
to  bewitch  that  gentleman  wholly  out  of  his  wits, 
and  half  out  of  his  theology.  Bayard  heard  her 
talking  about  St.  Augustine.  She  called  him  au 
interesting  monomaniac. 

The  table  was  served  in  the  manner  to  which 
Bayard  was  used,  and  was  abundantly  lighted  by 
candles  softly  shaded  in  yellow.  In  the  pleasant 
shimmer,  in  her  rich  dress,  with  the  lace  at  her 
throat  and  wrists,  she  seemed,  by  pretty  force  of 
contrast  with  the  prevailing  tone  of  the  village, 
the  symbol  of  beauty,  ease,  and  luxury.  Bayard 
thought  how  preeminent  she  looked  beside  that 
fellow  in  the  shirt.  He  could  not  help  wondering 
if  she  would  seem  as  imposing  in  Beacon  Street. 
After  a  little  study  of  the  subject  he  concluded 
that  it  would  not  make  much  difference.  She  was 
not  precisely  a  beautiful  woman,  but  she  was, 
certainly  a  woman  of  beauty.  What  was  she? 
Blonde  ?  She  had  too  much  vigor.  But  —  yes. 
Her  hair  was  as  yellow  as  the  gold  lining  of  rich 
silverware.  She  was  one  of  the  bright,  deep 
orange  blondes;  all  her  coloring  was  warm  and 


A    SINGULAR   LIFE  39 

brilliant.  Only  her  eyes  struck  him  as  inade- 
quate ;  languid,  indifferent,  and  not  concerned 
with  her  life.  She  gave  the  unusual  effect  of  dark 
eyes  with  bright  hair. 

While  he  was  thinking  about  her  in  the  inter 
ludes  of  such  chat  as  he  could  maintain  with  her 
mother,  who  had  asked  him  twice  whether  he 
graduated  this  year,  Miss  Carruth  turned  unex- 
pectedly and  addressed  him.  The  remark  which 
she  made  was  not  original;  it  was  something 
about  the  concerts  :  Did  he  not  go  in  often  ?  She 
had  not  asked  the  one  C  if  he  attended  the  Sym- 
phony Concerts.  But  Mrs.  Carruth  now  inquired 
of  that  gentleman  if  he  liked  the  last  prepara- 
tory lecture.  The  Professor  was  engaging  the  at- 
tention of  the  other  B.  And  Bayard  and  Helen 
Carruth  fell  to  conversing,  undisturbed,  across  the 
pleasant  table. 

He  felt  at  home  despite  himself,  in  that  easy 
atmosphere,  in  that  yellow  light.  The  natural 
sense  of  luxury  crept  around  him  softly.  He 
thought  of  his  northwest  room  over  there,  rocking 
in  the  gale,  and  of  the  big  dish  of  apples  at  the 
club  table.  He  thought  of  the  self-denials  and 
deprivations,  little  and  large,  which  had  accom- 
panied his  life  at  Cesarea ;  he  tried  to  remember 
why  he  had  chosen  to  do  this  or  suffered  that. 

His  ascetic  ideals  swam  and  blurred  a  little 
before  the  personality  of  this  warm,  rich,  human 
girl.  There  was  something  even  in  the  circum 
stance  of  eating  quail  on  toast,  and  sipping  choco- 


40  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

late  from  a  Dresden  cup  in  an  antique  Dutch 
spoon,  which  was  disturbing  to  the  devout  imagi* 
nation  —  in  Cesarea. 

Over  his  sensitive  face  his  high,  grave  look 
passed  suddenly,  like  the  reflection  thrown  from 
some  unseen,  passing  light. 

"  I  had  better  be  at  my  room  and  at  work,"  he 
thought. 

At  that  moment  he  became  aware  of  a  change  in 
the  expression  of  the  Professor's  daughter.  Her 
languid  eye  had  awaked.  She  was  regarding  him 
with  puzzled  but  evident  attention.  He  threw  off 
his  momentary  depression  with  ready  social  ease, 
and  gayly  said :  — 

"  You  look  as  if  you  were  trying  to  classify  a 
subject,  Miss  Carruth ;  as  if  you  wanted  to  put 
something  in  its  place  and  could  n't  do  it/' 

"  I  am,"  she  admitted.    "  I  do." 

"  And  you  succeed  ?  " 

"No."  She  shook  her  head  again.  "I  do  not 
find  the  label.  I  give  it  up."  She  laughed  mer- 
rily, and  Bayard  joined  in  the  laugh.  But  to  him- 
self he  said :  — 

"She  does  me  the  honor  to  investigate  mec 
Plainly  I  am  not  the  one  C.  Clearly  I  am  not 
the  other  B.  Then  what?  She  troubles  herself 
to  wonder." 

Then  he  remembered  how  many  generations  of 
theological  students  had  been  the  subject  of  the 
young  lady's  gracious  and  indifferent  observation. 
She  was,  perhaps,  twenty-five  years  old,  and  they 


A    SINGULAR   LIFE.  41 

had  filed  through  that  dining-room  alphabetically 
—  the  A's,  the  B's,  the  C's,  the  X's  and  the  Z's  — 
since  she  came,  in  short  dresses,  to  Cesarea,  when 
her  father  gave  up  his  New  York  parish  for  the 
Chair  of  Theology.  It  occurred  to  Bayard  that 
she  might  have  ceased  to  find  either  the  genus  or 
the  species  theologus  of  thrilling  personal  interest, 
by  this  time. 

Then  the  Professor  mentioned  to  the  other  B  a 
certain  feature  of  the  famous  Presbyterian  trial 
for  heresy,  at  that  time  wrenching  the  religious 
world.  Bayard  turned  to  listen,  and  the  discus- 
sion which  followed  soon  absorbed  him. 

The  face  of  the  Professor  of  Theology  grew 
grave  as  he  approached  the  topic  of  his  favorite 
heresy.  Stern  lines  cut  themselves  about  his  fine 
mouth.  His  gentle  eyes  darkened.  He  felt  keenly 
the  responsibility  of  the  influence  that  he  bore 
over  his  students,  even  in  hours  of  what  he  called 
social  relaxation,  and  the  necessity  of  defending  the 
truth  was  vividly  present  to  his  trained  conscience. 
Bayard  watched  his  host  with  troubled  admira- 
tion. It  was  with  a  start  that  he  heard  a  woman's 
voice  sweetly  breaking  in  upon  the  conversation. 
She  was  speaking  to  the  guest  of  the  flannel 
shirt. 

"Oh,  have  you  seen  the  snow  professor  since 
the  rain  ?  He 's  melted  into  such  a  lovely  slush !  " 

"  Helen ! "  rebuked  her  mother  plaintively. 
* Helen,  Helen!" 

But  the  Professor  smiled,  —  a  warm  smile  pecul 


42  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

iar  to  himself.  He  shot  a  tender  look  across  the 
table  at  his  daughter.  He  did  not  resume  the 
subject  of  the  Presbyterian  trial. 

"The  trouble  with  the  snow  professor,"  sug- 
gested Bayard,  "is  that  he  had  the  ice  in  his 
head,  but  the  sun  at  his  heart." 

Helen  Carruth  turned  quickly  towards  him 
Her  glance  lingered  into  a  look  distinctly  per^ 
sonal  and  indistinctly  grateful.  She  made  no 
answer,  but  her  eyes  and  the  student's  understood 
each  other. 


IV. 


IT  is  manifestly  as  unfair  to  judge  of  a  place  by 
its  March  as  to  judge  a  man's  disposition  by  the 
hour  before  dinner.  As  the  coldest  exteriors  may 
conceal  the  warmest  loves,  so  the  repelling  Cesa- 
rean  winter  holds  in  store  one  of  the  most  alluring 
summers  known  to  inland  New  England.  The  grass 
is  riper,  the  flowers  richer,  the  ranks  of  elms  are 
statelier,  the  skies  are  gentler,  and  the  people  hap- 
pier than  could  be  expected  of  Cesarean  theol- 
ogy. Nay.  theology  itself  unbends  in  April,  softens 
in  May,  warms  in  June,  and  grows  sunny  and  hu- 
man by  the  time  the  students  are  graduated  and 
turned  loose  upon  the  world,  —  a  world  which  is, 
on  the  whole,  so  patient  with  their  inexperience, 
and  so  ready  to  accept  as  spiritual  leaders  men 
whose  own  life's  lessons  are  yet  to  be  learned,  and 
whose  own  views  of  the  great  mysteries  which  they 
dare  to  interpret  are  so  much  more  assured  than 
they  will  be  ten  years  later. 

Emanuel  Bayard  and  Helen  Carruth  walksd  to- 
gether beneath  the  ancient  trees  that  formed  the 
great  cross  upon  the  Seminary  green. 

The  snow  professor  was  melted  out  of  existence ; 
head  of  ice  and  lecture  of  sleet  had  vanished 
months  ago.  Dandelions  glittered  in  the  long 
grass.  Sparrows  built  nests  under  the  awful 


44  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

chapel  eaves.  It  was  moonlight  and  warm,  —  a 
June  night,  —  and  the  elms  cast  traceries  of  fine 
shadows,  like  a  net,  about  the  feet  of  the  young 
people ;  they  seemed  to  become  entangled  in  the 
meshes,  as  they  strolled  up  and  down  and  to  and 
fro,  after  the  simple  fashion  of  the  town ;  which 
pays  no  more  attention  to  a  couple  sauntering  in 
broad  day,  or  broad  moonlight,  in  the  sight  of 
gods  and  men,  across  the  Seminary  "  yard,"  than 
it  does  to  the  sparrows  in  the  chapel  eaves. 

They  were  not  lovers,  these  two  ;  hardly  friends, 
at  least  in  the  name  of  the  thing ;  she  was  not  an 
accessible  girl,  and  he  was  a  preoccupied  man.  A 
certain  comfortable  acquaintance,  such  as  grows 
without  drama  in  the  quiet  society  of  university 
towns,  had  brought  them  together,  as  chance  led, 
without  distinct  volition  on  the  part  of  either. 
He  would  graduate  in  three  days.  He  had  called 
to  say  good-by  to  the  Professor's  family,  and  had 
taken  Miss  Helen  out  to  see  the  shadows  on  the 
cross  where  the  paths  met  —  the  mild  and  accepted 
form  of  dissipation  in  Cesarea ;  for  Professors' 
daughters.  They  walked  without  agitation,  and 
talked  without  sentiment.  Truth  to  tell,  their 
talk  was  serious,  above  their  years,  and  beyond 
their  relation. 

The  fact  was  that  Emanuel  Bayard  had  that 
spring  with  difficulty  received  his  license  to  preach. 
There  was  a  flaw  in  his  theology.  The  circum. 
stance  was  momentous  to  him.  His  uncle,  for  one 
thing,  had  been  profoundly  displeased  ;  had  re- 


A    SINGULAR   LIFE.  45 

buked,  remonstrated,  and  commanded ;  had  indeed 
gone  so  far  as  to  offend  his  nephew  with  threats 
of  a  nature  which  the  young  man  did  not  divulge 
to  Miss  Carruth,  for  his  natural  reserve  was  deep. 
She  had  noticed  that  he  did  not  confide  in  her  as 
readily  as  the  other  students  she  had  known.  But 
he  had  told  her  enough.  The  Professor's  daugh- 
ter, too  well  used  to  the  ecclesiastical  machinery 
and  ferment  of  the  day,  was  as  familiar  with  its 
phases  and  phrases  as  other  girls  are  with  the 
steps  of  a  cotillion  or  the  matrimonial  chances  of 
a  watering-place.  She  knew  quite  well  the  tre- 
mendous importance  of  what  had  happened. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said  in  her  deep,  rich,  al- 
most boyish  voice,  "  I  understand  it  all  perfectly. 
You  would  n't  say  you  did,  when  you  did  n't." 

V  How  could  I  ?  "  interrupted  Bayard. 

"  You  could  n't,  and  so  they  stirred  up  that  fuss. 
You  were  more  honest  than  the  other  fellows. 
And  you  were  punished  for  it." 

"  You  are  good  to  put  it  in  that  way,  but  what 
right  have  I  to  take  it  in  that  way?"  urged 
Bayard  wistfully.  "  The  other  fellows  are  just  as 
good  men  as  I ;  better,  most  of  them.  Fenton 
passed  all  right,  and  the  rest.  I  don't  feel  in- 
clined to  parade  my  ecclesiastical  honesty  and  set 
myself  above  them,  —  in  my  own  mind,  I  mean. 
I  have  dropped  below  them  in  everybody  else's ;  of 
course  I  know  that." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  everybody  else  ?  "  de- 
manded Helen  quickly.  "  Your  uncle,  Mr.  Her- 


46  A    SINGULAR  LIFE. 

mon  Worcester?  The  Trustees?  The  Faculty? 
And  those  old  men  on  the  council?  Oh,  I  know 
them !  Have  n't  I  dined  and  breakfasted  on 
Councils  and  Faculties  ever  since  we  came  here? 
Have  n't  I  eaten  and  drunken  and  breathed  Trus- 
tees and  doctrines,  and  what  is  sound,  and  what 
is  n't,  and  —  Don't  you  tell,  but  I  never  was 
afraid  of  a  Trustee  in  my  life  —  never  !  I  don't 
know  another  soul  in  Cesarea  who  is  n't,  —  not 
even  my  father.  When  I  was  a  little  girl,  I  used 
to  ruffle  up  their  beaver  hats  the  wrong  way,  out 
in  the  hall,  so  they  would  look  dissipated  when 
they  went  over  to  the  chapel.  Then  I  hid  behind 
the  door  to  see.  But  I  never  told  of  it  —  before. 
You  won't  tell  your  uncle,  will  you?  I  hid  a 
kitten  in  his  hat,  once,  and  when  he  came  out  of 
the  study  the  hat  was  walking  all  over  the  hall 
floor,  without  visible  means  of  locomotion." 

Bayard  laughed,  as  she  had  meant  he  should. 
The  tense  expression  of  his  face  relaxed;  she 
watched  him  narrowly. 

"  Come,"  she  said  in  a  changed  tone,  "  take  me 
home,  please.  The  house  is  full  of  Anniversary 
company.  I  ought  to  be  there." 

He  turned  at  her  command,  and  took  her 
towards  her  father's  house.  They  walked  in 
silence  down  the  long  Seminary  path.  She  was 
dressed  in  light  muslin  with  a  violet  on  it,  and 
wore  ribbons  that  matched  the  violet.  She  had  a 
square  of  white  lace  thrown  over  her  bright  hair. 
The  meshes  of  the  tracery  from  the  elm-trees  fell 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  47 

thickly  under  her  quick  tread.  At  the  stone  posts 
which  guarded  the  great  lawns,  she  hesitated; 
then  set  her  feet  resolutely  out  from  the  delicate 
net  into  the  bright  spaces  of  the  open  road. 

"Mr.  Bayard,"  she  said  in  her  clear  voice, 
"you  are  an  honest  man.  It  is  better  to  be  that 
than  to  be  a  minister." 

"If  one  cannot  be  both,"  amended  Bayard. 
"  But  to  start  in  like  this,  with  a  slur  attached  to 
one's  name  at  the  beginning,  —  I  don't  suppose 
you  understand  how  it  dooms  a  fellow,  Miss  Car- 
ruth.  Its  equivalent  would  be  almost  enough  to 
disbar  a  man  in  law,  or  to  ruin  him  in  medicine." 

"  I  understand  the  whole  miserable  subject !  " 
cried  Helen  hotly.  "  I  am  sick  to  my  soul  of  it ! 
I  wish  "  —  She  checked  herself.  "  Let  me  see," 
she  added  more  calmly.  "  What  was  it  they  tor- 
mented you  about  ?  Eternal  punishment  ?  " 

"  I  managed  to  escape  on  that,"  said  Bayard. 
"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  and  I  said  so, 
I  think,  myself,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  cheap  talk 
afloat  on  that  subject.  Our  newspapers  and 
novels  are  full  of  it.  It  is  about  the  only  difficult 
doctrine  in  theology  that  outsiders  understand  the 
relations  of ;  so  they  stick  on  that,  and  make 
the  most  of  it.  It  is  an  easy  way  of  making 
the  Christian  religion  intolerable  —  if  one  wants 
to.  My  difficulty  was  rather  with  —  I  see  you 
know  something  of  our  technical  terms  —  with 
what  we  call  verbal  inspiration." 

"Oh   yes."    Helen   nodded.      "Whether  'The 


48  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Lord  will  have  war  with  Amalek  from  generation 
to  generation '  was  inspired  by  Almighty  God  ;  or 
4  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego,  —  Reuben. 
Gad,  and  Asher,  and  Zebulun,  Dan,  and  Naph- 
tali,'  and  all  that.  I  know.  .  .  .  Inspired  moon- 
shine !  I  am  a  little  bit  of  a  heretic  myself,  Mr. 
Bayard ;  but  I  'm  not  —  I  'm  not  as  honest  as 
you  ;  I  'm  not  pious,  either." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  /  am  pious  !  "  began 
Bayard  resentfully. 

But  she  laughed  sweetly  in  his  frowning  face. 
They  stood  at  her  father's  high  stone  steps.  The 
Anniversary  company  were  chatting  in  the  parlors. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said  in  a  lower  tone ;  and 
then  more  gently,  "  and  good-by." 

He  started  slightly  at  the  word ;  turned  as  if 
he  would  have  said  something,  but  said  it  not. 
He  took  her  hand  in  silence ;  then  perceived  that 
she  had  withdrawn  it  suddenly,  coldly,  it  seemed, 
and  had  vanished  from  him  up  the  steps  of  stone. 

He  walked  back  to  Galilee  Hall  slowly.  His 
bent  eyes  traced  the  net  of  shadows  around  his 
reluctant  feet.  What  was  that  ?  Inspired  moon- 
shine ?  Inspired  moonshine !  He  lifted  his  face 
and  looked  abroad  on  Cesarea  Hill. 

His  head  was  heavy,  and  his  heart  throbbed. 
Perhaps  at  that  moment,  if  he  had  been  asked 
which  was  the  greater  mystery,  God  or  woman, 
this  honest  man  could  not  have  answered. 

With  sudden  hunger  for  solitude,  he  went  to 
his  room.  But  it  was  full  of  fellow-students 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  49 

Fenton  was  there,  and  Tompkinton,  Jaynes,  Bent, 
and  Holt,  and  the  middler.  They  received  him 
noisily,  and  he  sat  down  among  them.  They 
related  the  stories  current  in  denominational  cir- 
cles,—  ecclesiastical  jokes  and  rumors  of  sectarian 
conflicts  ;  they  interchanged  gossip  about  who  was 
called  where,  and  what  churches  were  said  to  lack 
supplies,  the  figures  of  salaries,  the  statistics  of 
revivals,  and  the  prospects  of  settlement  open  to 
the  senior  class. 

Bayard  listened  silently.  His  heart  was  not 
with  them,  nor  in  their  talk.  Yet  he  criticised 
himself  for  criticising  them.  Besides,  he  had  re- 
ceived no  call  to  settle  anywhere. 

Almost  alone  among  the  intellectual  men  of  his 
class,  he  found  himself,  at  the  end  of  his  prepara- 
tory education,  undesired  and  unsummoiied  by  the 
churches  to  fill  a  pulpit  of  them  all. 

He  had  done  his  share,  like  the  rest,  of  that 
preliminary  preaching  which  decides  the  future  of 
a  man  in  his  profession ;  but  he  stood,  on  the  eve 
of  his  graduation,  among  his  mates,  marked  and 
quivering,  —  this  sensitive  fellow,  —  that  most 
miserable  of  all  educated,  restless,  and  wretched 
young  men  with  whom  our  land  abounds,  "  a  min- 
ister without  a  call." 

He  had  said  nothing  to  Helen  Carruth  about 
fchis.  A  man  does  not  tell  a  woman  such  things 
until  he  has  to. 

Something  in  his  face  struck  the  students  quiet 
after  a  while,  and  they  dropped  away  from  the 
room.  His  friend  Fenton  made  the  move. 


50  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  It  is  said,"  he  whispered  to  Tompkinton,  as 
they  clattered  down  the  dusty  stairs  of  Galilee 
Hall,  "that  his  trouble  with  that  New  Hampshire 
Council  has  followed  him.  It  is  reported  that  his 
license  did  not  come  easily.  It  has  got  abroad 
that  he  is  not  sound.  Nothing  could  be  more 
unfortunate  —  or  more  unnecessary,"  added  Fen- 
ton  in  his  too  cheerful  voice.  There  had  been 
no  doubt  of  his  theology.  He  had  received  three 
calls.  As  yet  he  had  accepted  none.  He  ex- 
pected to  be  married  in  the  fall,  and  looked  for  a 
larger  salary. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  and  clapped  his  hands  to 
his  head. 

"  Bayard  !  "  he  called  loudly.  "  Bayard,  come 
to  the  window  a  minute  !  " 

The  outline  of  Bayard's  fine  head  appeared 
faintly  in  the  third-story  window,  against  the 
background  of  his  unlighted  room.  The  moon 
was  so  bright  that  his  face  seemed  to  be  a  white 
flame,  as  he  looked  down  on  his  classmates  from 
that  height. 

"  I  brought  up  your  mail,"  said  Fenton,  "  and 
forgot  to  tell  you.  You  '11  find  a  letter  lying  on 
your  table  behind  the  third  volume  of  Dean 
Alford.  You  keep  your  room  so  dark,  I  was 
afraid  you  might  n't  see  it." 

Bayard  thanked  him,  and  groped  for  the  letter  ; 
but  he  did  not  light  the  lamp  to  read  it ;  he  sat  on 
in  the  moonlit  room,  alone  and  still.  His  heart 
was  hot  within  him  as  he  remembered  how  the 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  51 

students  talked.  That  vision  which  sets  a  man 
apart  from  his  fellows,  and  thus  makes  him  mis- 
erable or  blessed,  or  both,  beckoned  to  him  with 
distant,  shining  finger.  His  face  fell  into  his 
hands.  Great  God  !  what  did  it  mean  to  take 
upon  one's  self  that  sacred  Name  in  which  a 
Christian  preacher  stands  before  his  fellow-men? 
What  had  common  pettiness  or  envy,  narrow  fear 
or  little  weakness,  to  do  with  the  soul  of  a  teacher 
of  holiness?  How  easy  to  quibble  and  evade, 
and  fall  into  rank  !  How  hard  to  stand  apart,  to 
look  the  cannon  in  the  eye,  alone ! 

It  is  not  easy  for  men  of  the  world,  of  ordinary 
business,  pleasure,  politics,  and  those  professions 
whose  standards  are  pliable,  to  understand  the 
noble  civil  war  between  the  nature  and  the  posi- 
tion of  a  man  like  Bayard  ;  and  yet  it  might  be 
worth  while  to  try. 

There  is  something  so  much  higher  and  more 
delicate  than  our  own  common  standards  of  ethics 
that  it  is  refining  to  respect,  even  if  we  fail  to 
comprehend,  the  struggles  of  a  man  who  aspires  to 
the  possession  of  perfect  spiritual  honor. 

Bayard  had  not  moved  nor  lifted  his  face  from 
his  hands,  when  a  step  which  he  recognized 
heavily  struck  and  slowly  mounted  the  lower 
flight  of  the  old  stairs  of  Galilee  Hall.  It  was 
his  uncle,  Trustee  of  Cesarea  Seminary,  and  of 
the  faith  of  its  founders,  returning  from  the  home 
of  the  Professor  of  Hebrew,  where  he  had  been 
entertained  on  Anniversary  week. 


52  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

Bayard  sighed,  and  groped  for  a  match.  This 
interview  could  not  be  evaded,  but  he  winced 
away  from  it  in  every  nerve.  It  is  easier  to  face 
the  obloquy  of  the  world  than  the  frown  of  the 
man  or  woman  who  has  brought  us  up. 

Hermon  Worcester  was  bitterly  mortified  that 
JEmanuel  had  received  no  "  call."  He  had  not 
said  so,  yet,  but  his  nephew  knew  that  this  well- 
bred  reserve  had  reached  its  last  breath.  As 
Bayard  struck  the  light,  he  perceived  the  forgot- 
ten letter  in  his  hand,  and,  perhaps  thinking  to 
defer  a  painful  scene  for  a  moment,  said,  "  Your 
pardon,  Uncle,"  and  tore  the  envelope. 

The  letter  contained  a  formal  and  unanimous 
call  from  the  seaside  parish  whose  vacant  pulpit 
he  had  been  supplying  for  six  weeks  to  become 
their  pastor. 

"Helen!  Helen!" 

The  mild,  cultivated  whine  of  the  Professor's 
wife  complained  through  the  hot  house. 

Helen  ran  in  dutiful  response.  It  was  late, 
and  the  Anniversary  guests  had  scattered  to  their 
rooms.  The  girl  was  partly  undressed  for  the 
night,  and  stood  in  her  doorway  gathering  her 
cashmere  wrapper  about  her  tall,  rich  form, 
Mrs.  Carruth  looked  through  the  half-open  door 
of  her  own  room. 

" 1  cannot  get  your  father  out  of  his  study, 
Helen,"  she  urged  plaintively.  "  He  has  one  of 
his  headaches  at  the  base  of  the  brain  —  and  those 


A    SINGULAR  LIFE.  58 

extra  Faculty  meetings  before  him  this  week,  with 
all  the  rest.  Do  go  down  and  see  if  you  can't 
send  him  up  to  bed." 

Helen  buttoned  her  white  gown  to  the  throat 
and  ran  softly  downstairs  to  the  study.  The  Pro 
fessor  of  Theology  sat  at  his  study  table  with  a 
knot  between  his  eyes.  A  pile  of  catalogues  lay 
before  him;  he  was  jotting  down  statistics  with 
his  gold  pencil  on  old-fashioned  foolscap  paper. 
He  pushed  the  paper  aside  when  he  saw  his 
daughter,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  her,  smiling. 
She  went  straight  to  him  as  if  she  had  been  a 
little  girl,  and  knelt  beside  him,  crossing  her 
hands  on  his  knee.  He  put  his  arm  around  her ; 
his  stern  face  relaxed. 

"  You  are  to  put  the  entire  system  of  Orthodox 
theology  away  and  come  to  bed,  Papa,"  she  said, 
with  her  sweet  imperiousness.  "  Mother  says  you 
have  a  headache  at  the  base  of  something.  It  is 
pretty  late  —  and  it  worries  her.  What  are  you 
doing?  Counting  theologues?  Counting  theo- 
logues !  At  your  time  of  life !  As  if  you 
couldn't  find  anything  better  to  do!  What  is 
this  ? "  She  caught  up  a  stray  slip  of  paper, 
"  '  Deaf  —  deaf  as  an  adder :  10.  Blind  —  stone= 
blind:  6.'  Wrhat  in  the  name  of  —  Anniversary 
week  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"That  is  a  personal  memorandum,"  said  the 
Professor,  flushing.  "  Tear  it  up,  Helen." 

" 1  know,"  said  Helen,  nodding.  "  It 's  a  pri- 
vate classification  of  theologues.  Which  does 


54  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

it  catalogue,  their  theology  or  their  intellects  1 
Come,  Papa ! " 

"  I  '11  never  tell  you !  "  laughed  the  Professor, 
shutting  his  thin,  scholarly  lips.  And  he  never 
did.  But  the  laugh  had  gained  the  point,  as  she 
intended.  He  took  his  German  student  lamp  and 
started  upstairs.  Helen  walked  through  the  long, 
dim  hall  with  her  two  hands  clasped  lovingly 
upon  his  arm. 

"  I  am  bothered,"  admitted  the  Professor,  stop- 
ping  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "  about  one  of  my 
boys.  He  is  rather  a  favorite  with  me.  There 
is  n't  a  finer  intellect  in  the  senior  class." 

"  But  how  about  his  Christianity,  Father  ? " 
asked  the  girl  mischievously. 

"His  Christianity  is  all  right,  so  far  as  I 
know,"  admitted  the  Professor  slowly.  "  It  is  his 
theology  that  is  the  hitch.  He  is  n't  sound.  He 
has  received  no  call." 

"  Do  I  know  him?"  asked  Helen  in  a  different 
tone. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  turned,  and  held 
his  student  lamp  at  arm's  length  above  his  daugh- 
ter's face,  which  he  scanned  in  silence  before  he 
said :  — 

"I  am  not  prepared  to  answer  that  question, 
Helen.  Whether  you  know  him  I  can't  say;  I 
really  cannot  say  whether  you  know  him  or  riot, 
I'm  not  sure  whether  I  do,  myself.  But  I  am 
much  annoyed  about  the  matter.  It  is  a  misfor- 
tune to  the  Seminary,  and  a  mortification  to  the 
young  man," 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  55 

He  kissed  his  daughter  tenderly,  and  went  up- 
stairs with  the  weary  tread  of  a  professional  man 
at  the  end  of  a  long  day's  work. 

Helen  went  to  her  own  room  and  shut  the  door. 
But  she  did  not  light  the  candles.  She  sat  down 
at  her  open  window,  in  the  hot,  night  wind.  She 
leaned  her  cheek  against  her  bare  arm,  from 
which  the  loose  sleeve  fell  away.  The  elms  were 
in  such  rich  leaf  that  she  could  see  the  Seminary 
buildings  only  in  broken  outline  now.  But  there 
was  wind  enough  to  lift  and  toss  the  branches, 
and  through  one  of  the  rifts  in  the  green  wall  she 
noticed  that  a  light  was  burning  in  the  third- 
story  northwest  corner  of  Galilee  Hall. 

It  was  past  midnight  before  she  went  to  bed. 
As  she  closed  her  blinds,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  the  Professor's  daughter  did  deliberately,  and 
of  self-acknowledged  intention,  stoop  to  take  a 
look  at  the  window  of  a  student. 

"  His  light  is  still  burning,"  she  thought. 
"  What  can  be  the  matter  ?  " 

Then  she  flushed  red  with  a  beautiful  self- 
rebuke,  and  fled  to  her  white  pillow. 

Night  deepened  into  perfect  silence  on  Cesarea 
Hill.  The  last  light  in  Galilee  Hall  went  out0 
The  moon  rode  on  till  morning.  In  the  deserted 
green  the  clear-cut  paths  shone  wide  and  long,  and 
the  great  white  cross  lay  as  if  nailed  to  its  place, 
all  night,  between  the  Seminary  and  the  Professor's 
house. 


V. 

"  GOSHAMIGHTY,  stand  off  there  !  Who  in  — - 
are  you  ?  r' 

This  candid  remark  was  addressed  by  a  fisher- 
man in  blue  flannel  shirtsleeves  to  a  gentleman  in 
afternoon  dress.  It  was  in  the  month  of  Septem- 
ber, and  the  fleets  were  busy  in  and  off  the  harbor 
of  the  fishing-town.  The  autumn  trips  were  well 
under  sail,  and  the  docks  and  streets  of  Windover 
buzzed  and  reeled  with  crews  just  anchored  or 
about  to  weigh.  At  the  juncture  of  the  principal 
business  avenue  of  the  town  with  its  principal  nau- 
tical street  —  from  a  date  passing  the  memory  of 
living  citizens  irreverently  named  Angel  Alley  — 
a  fight  was  in  brisk  progress.  This  was  so  com- 
mon an  incident  in  that  part  of  the  town  that  the 
residents  had  paid  little  attention  to  it.  But  the 
stranger,  being  a  stranger,  had  paused  and  asked 
for  a  policeman. 

The  bystanders  stared. 

"  There  ain't  none  nigher  'n  the  station,"  replied 
a  girl  who  was  watching  the  fight  with  evident 
relish.  She  wore  a  pert  sailor  hat  of  soiled  white 
straw,  set  on  one  side  of  her  head,  and  carried  her 
hands  in  the  pockets  of  a  crumpled  tan-colored 
reefer.  Her  eyes  were  handsome  and  bold.  The 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  57 

crowd  jostled  her  freely,  which  did  not  seem  to 
trouble  her.  "  There 's  a  fellow  just  arrested," 
she  explained  cheerfully,  "  for  smashing  his  wife 
with  a  coal-hod ;  they  're  busy  with  him  down  to 
the  station.  He  fit. all  the  way  over.  It  took  four 
cops  to  hold  him.  Most  the  folks  are  gone  over 
there  to  see  the  other  game.  This  fun  here  won't 
be  spoiled  just  yet  awhile." 

Something  in  the  expression  with  which  the  gen- 
tleman regarded  her  attracted  the  girl's  attention. 
She  took  her  hands  out  of  her  pockets,  and  scanned 
him  with  a  dull  surprise  ;  then,  with  a  motion  which 
one  could  not  call  abashed,  but  which  fell  short  of 
her  previous  ease  of  manner,  she  turned  her  back 
and  walked  a  little  away  towards  the  edge  of  the 
crowd. 

The  fight  was  at  its  hottest.  Two  men,  an 
Italian  laborer  and  an  American  fisherman,  were 
somewhat  seriously  belaboring  each  other,  to  their 
own  undisguised  satisfaction  and  the  acclamation 
of  the  bystanders.  Both  were  evidently  more  or 
less  drunk.  An  open  grogshop  gaped  behind  them. 
Similar  places  of  entertainment,  with  others  less 
easily  described,  lined  both  sides  of  Angel  Alley, 
multiplying  fruitfully,  till  the  wharves  joined  their 
grimy  hands  and  barred  the  way  to  this  black 
fertility. 

It  was  a  windy  day ;  the  breeze  was  rising,  and 
the  unseen  sea  could  be  heard  moaning  beyond. 

Just  as  the  stranger,  with  the  indiscretion  of 
youth  and  inexperience,  was  about  to  step  into  the 


58  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

ring  and  try  to  stop  the  row,  a  child  pushed 
through  the  crowd.  It  was  a  boy  ;  a  little  fellow, 
barely  four  or  five  years  old.  He  ducked  under  the 
elbows  and  between  the  legs  of  the  spectators  with 
an  adroitness  which  proclaimed  him  the  son  of  a 
sailor,  and  ran  straight  to  the  combatants,  crying  : 

"  Father  !  Fa — ther  !  Marm  says  to  please  to 
stop  !  She  says  to  ax  you  to  please  to  stop,  and 
come  home  wiv  you'  little  boy  !  " 

He  ran  between  the  two  men,  and  put  up  his 
little  dirty  fingers  upon  his  father's  big,  clenched 
hand  ;  he  repeated  piteously,  "  Father,  Fa — ther, 
Fa— ther !  " 

But  more  than  this  the  little  fellow  had  not  time 
to  say.  The  father's  dark,  red  face  turned  a  sud- 
den, ominous  purple,  and  before  any  person  of  them 
all  could  stay  him  his  brutal  hand  had  turned  upon 
the  child. 

Cries  of  shame  and  horror  rose  from  the  crowd ; 
a  woman's  shriek  echoed  from  a  window  across  the 
street,  and  the  screams  of  the  boy  pierced  the  bed- 
lam. The  Italian,  partly  sobered,  had  slunk  back. 

"  Stop  him  !  Part  them !  Hold  him,  somebody ! 
He  '11  kill  the  child  !  "  yelled  the  bystanders,  and 
not  a  man  of  them  stirred. 

"  Why,  it 's  only  a  l>dby  !  "  cried  the  girl  in  the 
reefer,  running  up.  "  He  '11  murder  it !  Oh,  if  I 
was  a  man  !  "  she  raved,  wringing  her  hands. 

At  that  moment,  before  one  could  have  lifted 
the  eyelash  to  see  how  it  fell,  a  well-aimed  blow 
struck  the  brute  beneath  the  ear.  He  fell. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  59 

Hands  snatched  the  writhing  child  away ;  his 
mother's  arms  and  screams  received  him;  and 
over  the  fallen  man  a  slight,  tall  figure  was  seen 
to  tower.  The  stranger  had  thrown  down  his 
valise,  and  tossed  off  his  silk  hat.  His  delicate 
face  was  as  white  as  a  star.  He  quivered  with 
holy  rage.  He  trampled  on  the  fellow  with  one 
foot,  and  ground  him  down;  he  had  the  attitude 
of  the  St.  Michael  in  Guide's  great  picture.  He 
had  that  scorn  and  all  that  beauty. 

A  geyser  of  oaths  spurted  from  the  prostrate 
ruffian.  The  stranger  stooped,  and  pinned  him 
skillfully  until  they  ceased. 

"Now,"  he  said  calmly,  "get  up.  Get  up,  I 
say !  "  He  released  his  clenched  white  hand  from 
the  other's  grimy  flesh. 

"  He  '11  thresh  the  life  outen  ye !  "  protested  a 
voice  from  the  increasing  crowd.  "You  don't 
know  Job  Slip  's  well 's  we  do.  He  '11  make  short 
work  on  ye,  sir,  if  you  darst  let  go  him." 

"No,  he  won't,"  replied  the  stranger  quietly. 
"  He  respects  a  good  blow  when  he  feels  it.  He 
knows  how  ft  ought  to  be  planted.  He  would  do 
as  much  himself,  if  he  saw  a  man  killing  his  own 
child.  Would  n't  you,  Job  Slip  ?  " 

He  stepped  back  fearlessly  and  folded  his  arms. 
The  rapidly  sobering  sot  struggled  to  his  feet,  and 
instinctively  squared  off;  looked  at  the  gentleman 
blindly  for  a  moment,  then  dropped  his  huge  arms. 

"  Goshamighty  /  "  he  said,  "who  in are 

you  ?  " 


60  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

He  took  one  of  the  stranger's  delicate  hands  in 
his  black  and  bleeding  palms,  and  critically  ex- 
amined it. 

"  That?  Why,  my  woman's  paw  is  stronger 
'n'  bigger  'n  that  !  "  contemptuously.  "  And  you 
did  n't  overdo  it  neither.  Pity !  If  you  'd  only 
made  it  manslaughter  —  why,  I  could  ha'  sent  ye 
up  on  my  antumortim  deppysition." 

"  Oh,  I  knew  better  than  that,"  replied  the 
stranger  calmly,  turning  for  his  hat.  He  thought 
of  the  boxing-lessons  that  he  used  to  take  on  the 
Back  Bay,  years  ago.  Some  one  in  the  crowd 
brushed  off  the  hat  with  the  back  of  a  dusty  elbow, 
and  handed  it  respectfully  to  the  gentleman.  The 
girl  in  the  reefer  picked  up  his  valise. 

"  I  've  kep'  my  eye  on  it,  for  you,"  she  said  in  a 
softened  voice. 

"Well,"  said  Job  Slip  slowly,  "I  guess  7'U 
keep  my  eye  on  him." 

"Do!"  answered  the  stranger  heartily.  "I 
wish  you  would.  They  don't  fight  where  I  'm 
going." 

"  Who  be  you,  anyway  ?  "  demanded  Job  Slip 
with  undisguised  admiration.  He  had  not  made 
up  his  mind  yet  whether  to  spring  at  the  other's 
throat,  or  to  offer  him  a  drink. 

"  I  'm  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  tell  you  now," 
answered  the  gentleman  quietly.  "  I  've  missed 
the  most  important  engagement  of  my  life  —  to 
save  your  child." 

"He's  goin'  to  his  weddin',"  muttered  a  voice 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  61 

behind  him.  The  girl  started  the  chorus  of  a  song 
which  he  had  never  heard  before,  and  was  not 
anxious  to  hear  again. 

"You  have  a  good  voice,"  he  said,  turning. 
"  You  can  put  it  to  a  better  use  than  that." 

She  stared  at  him,  but  made  him  no  reply.  The 
crowd  parted  and  scattered,  and  he  came  through 
into  the  main  street. 

"  Sir !  Sir ! "  called  a  woman's  voice  from  a 
window  over  his  head. 

The  young  man  looked  up.  The  mother  of  the 
little  boy  held  the  child  upon  the  window-sill  for 
him  to  see. 

"  He  ain't  much  hurt !  "  she  cried.  "  I  thought 
you  'd  like  to  know  it.  It 's  all  along  of  you. 
God  go  with  you,  sir  !  God  bless  you,  sir !  " 

He  had  put  on  his  hat,  but  removed  it  at  these 
words,  and  stood  uncovered  before  the  drunkard's 
wife.  She  could  not  know  how  much  it  meant  to 
him  —  that  day.  Without  looking  back  he  strode 
up  the  street.  The  Italian  ran  out  and  watched 
him.  Job  Slip  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  did  the  same,  following  the  young  man  with 
perplexed  and  sodden  eyes.  The  Italian  stood 
amiably  beside  his  late  antagonist.  Both  men 
had  forgotten  what  they  fought  about,  now.  A 
little  group  from  the  vanishing  crowd  joined  them. 
The  mother  in  the  window  —  a  gaunt  Madonna 
—  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand  to  see  the  de- 
parting figure  of  the  unknown  while  she  pressed 
the  bruised  and  sobbing  child  against  her  breast. 


62  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

The  stranger  halted  at  the  steps  of  the  old  First 
Church  of  Windover ;  then  ran  up  lightly,  and 
disappeared  within  the  open  doors. 

"  I  '11  be  split  and  salted ! "  said  a  young  man 
who  had  not  been  drinking,  "  if  I  don't  believe 
that's  the  new  parson  come  to  town! " 

The  speaker  had  black  eyebrows  which  met  in  a 
straight  and  heavy  line. 

"I'll  be !"  said  Job  Slip. 

The  church  was  thronged.  Citizens  and  stran- 
gers jostled  each  other  in  the  porch,  the  vestibules, 
and  the  aisles.  It  was  one  of  those  religious 
festivals  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  New  England, 
and  so  perplexing  to  gayer  people.  No  metropol- 
itan play  could  have  collected  a  crowd  like  this  in 
Windover. 

The  respectability  of  the  town  was  out  in  force. 
The  richest  fish  firms,  the  largest  ship-owners,  and 
the  oldest  families  shed  the  little  light  of  local 
glory  upon  the  occasion.  Most  of  them,  in  fact, 
were  members  of  the  parish.  Windover  had  what 
an  irreverent  outsider  had  termed  her  codocracy. 
The  examination  —  to  be  followed  that  evening  by 
the  ordination  — of  the  new  minister  was  an  affair 
of  note.  Windover  is  not  the  only  town  on  the 
map  where  the  social  leaders  are  fond  of  patroniz- 
ing whatever  ecclesiastical  interests  are  dependent 
on  the  generosity  of  their  pockets  and  the  impor- 
tance of  their  names.  Nothing  tends  to  the  growth 
of  a  religious  sect  so  much  as  the  belief  that  the 
individual  is  important  to  it. 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  63 

Upon  the  platform,  decorated  by  the  Ladies' 
Aid  Society  with  taste,  piety,  and  goldenrod,  sat 
the  Council  called  to  examine  and  to  ordain  Eman- 
uel  Bayard  to  the  ministry  of  Christ.  These  were 
venerable  men  ;  they  drove  in  from  the  surround- 
ing parishes  in  their  buggies,  or  took  the  trains 
from  remoter  towns.  A  few  city  names  had  re- 
sponded ;  one  or  two  of  them  were  eminent.  The 
columns  of  the  "  Windover  Topsail "  had  these 
already  set  up  in  display  type,  and  the  reporters 
in  the  galleries  dashed  them  off  on  yellow  slips  of 
paper. 

As  the  minister-elect,  panting  with  his  haste, 
ran  up  the  steps  and  into  the  church,  the  first 
thing  that  he  perceived  was  the  eye  of  one  of  his 
Cesarea  Professors  fastened  sternly  upon  him.  It 
gave  him  the  feeling  of  a  naughty  little  boy  who 
was  late  to  school.  This  guilty  sensation  was  not 
lessened  by  a  vision  of  the  back  of  his  uncle's  bald 
head  in  an  eminent  seat  among  the  lay  delegates, 
and  by  the  sight  of  the  jeweled  Swiss  repeater, 
familiar  to  his  infancy,  too  visibly  suspended  from 
Mr.  Hermon  Worcester's  hand.  The  church 
clock  (wearing  for  the  occasion  a  wreath  of  purple 
asters,  which  had  received  an  unfortunate  lurch 
to  one  side,  and  gave  that  pious  timepiece  a  tipsy 
air)  charitably  maintained  that  Bayard  was  but 
seven  minutes  late.  The  impatience  of  the  Coun- 
cil and  the  anxiety  of  the  audience  seemed  to  aver 
that  an  hour  would  not  cover,  nor  eternity  pardon, 
the  young  man's  delay.  He  dropped  his  valise 


64  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

into  the  hand  of  the  sexton,  and  strode  up  the 
broad  aisle.  The  dust  of  the  street  fight  still 
showed  upon  his  fashionable  clothes.  His  cheeks 
were  flushed  with  his  fine  color.  His  disordered 
hair  clung  to  his  white  forehead  in  curls  that  the 
straitest  sect  of  the  Pharisees  could  not  have 
straightened.  Every  woman  in  the  audience 
noticed  this,  and  liked  him  the  better  for  it.  But 
the  Council  was  composed  of  straight-haired  men. 

Somebody  beckoned  him  into  the  minister's 
room  to  repair  damages :  and  as  he  crossed  the 
platform  to  do  so,  Bayard  stooped  and  exchanged 
a  few  whispered  words  with  the  moderator.  The 
wrinkled  face  of  that  gentleman  changed  visibly. 
He  rose  at  once  and  said  :  — 

"  It  is  due  to  our  brother  and  to  the  audience  to 
state  that  your  minister-elect  desires  me  to  make 
his  apologies  to  this  parish  for  a  tardiness  which 
he  found  to  be  unavoidable,  —  morally  unavoida- 
ble, I  might  say.  And  I  should  observe,"  added 
the  moderator,  hesitating,  "  that  I  have  been  re- 
quested not  to  explain  the  nature  of  the  case,  but 
I  shall  take  it  upon  myself  to  defy  this  injunction, 
and  to  state  that  an  act  of  Christian  mercy  de- 
tained our  brother.  I  do  not  think,"  said  the 
moderator,  dropping  suddenly  from  the  ecclesias- 
tical to  the  human  tone,  "  that  it  is  every  man  who 
would  have  done  it,  under  the  circumstances  ;  and 
I  do  not  consider  it  any  less  creditable  for  that." 

A  sound  of  relief  stirred  through  the  house  as 
the  moderator  sat  down.  The  audience  ceased 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  65 

twisting  its  head  to  look  at  the  tipsy  clock,  thus 
enabling  the  Ladies'  Aid  Association  to  get  that 
aster  wreath  for  the  first  time  out  of  mind.  Mr. 
Hermon  Worcester's  watch  went  back  to  its  com- 
fortable fob.  A  smile  melted  across  the  anxious 
face  of  Professor  Haggai  Carruth  of  Cesarea. 
The  minister-elect  reappeared  with  plumage  prop- 
erly smoothed,  and  the  proceedings  of  the  day  set 
in,  with  the  usual  decorum  of  the  denomination. 

It  is  not  a  ceremonious  sect,  that  of  the  Congre- 
gationalism of  New  England ;  and  its  polity  allows 
much  diversity  upon  occasions  like  these,  whose 
programme  depends  a  good  deal  upon  the  prefer- 
ence of  the  moderator.  Bayard's  moderator  was 
a  gray-haired,  kind-hearted,  plain  country  minister, 
the  oldest  man  in  the  Council,  and  one  of  the 
best.  It  was  not  his  intention  to  subject  the 
young  man  to  one  of  the  ecclesiastical  roastings  at 
that  time  in  vogue,  and  for  the  course  of  events 
which  followed  he  was  not  responsible.  This  was 
a  matter  of  small  moment  at  the  time ;  but 
Bayard  had  afterwards  occasion  to  remember  it. 

He  listened  dreamily  to  the  conventional  pre- 
liminary exercises  of  the  afternoon.  His  mind 
was  in  a  turmoil  which  poorly  prepared  the  young 
man  for  the  intellectual  and  emotional  strain  of 
the  day.  That  scene  in  the  street  flashed  and 
faded  and  reappeared  before  him,  like  the  dark 
lantern  which  an  evil  hand  brings  into  a  sacred 
place.  The  blow  of  the  man's  fist  upon  the  child 
seemed  to  fall  crashing  upon  his  own  flesh. 


66  A    SINGULAR   LIFE. 

Across  the  crescendo  of  the  chorus  of  the  hymn 
the  cry  of  the  little  boy  ran  in  piteous  discord. 
The  organ  rolled  up  the  oaths  of  the  wharves. 
While  the  good, gray-haired  moderator  was  pray- 
ing, Bayard  was  shocked  to  find  that  the  song 
of  the  street  girl  ran  through  his  burning  brain. 
The  gaunt  Madonna  in  the  window  of  the  drunk- 
ard's home  seemed  to  be  stamped  —  a  dark  photo- 
graphic letter-head — upon  the  license  to  preach 
the  Christian  religion  which  he  was  required 
(with  moore  than  usual  precision)  to  produce. 

"  Why!,"  said  a  sour  voice  suddenly  at  his  el- 
bow, "  why  do  you  consider  yourself  a  child  of 
God?" 

Bayard  recalled  himself  with  a  start  to  the  fact 
that  the  personal  examination  of  the  day  had  be- 
gun, and  that  the  opening  shot  had  come  from 
the  least  important  and  most  crabbed  man  in  the 
Council.  And  now  for  three  quivering  hours  the 
young  man  stood  the  fire  of  the  most  ingenious 
ecclesiastical  inquisition  which  had  been  witnessed 
in  that  part  of  the  State  for  many  a  year. 

At  first  it  rather  amused  him  than  otherwise, 
and  he  bore  it  with  great  good  nature. 

He  was  patient  beyond  his  years  with  the  small 
clergyman  from  the  small  interior  parish,  whose 
hobby  was  that  theological  students  were  not 
properly  taught  their  Bibles,  and  who  had  in- 
vented a  precious  catechism  of  his  own,  calcu- 
lated to  prove  to  the  audience  how  little  they  or 
the  candidate  knew  of  Boanerges,  Gog  and  Ma- 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  67 

gog,  and  the  four  beasts  which  are  the  chief  zo- 
ological ornaments  of  the  Apocalypse.  Having 
treated  these  burning  questions  satisfactorily. 
Bayard  fenced  awhile  with  the  learned  clergyman 
who  was  alive  only  in  the  dead  languages,  and  who 
put  the  candidate  through  his  Greek  and  Hebrew 
paces  as  if  he  had  been  a  college  boy. 

Bayard  had  felt  no  serious  concern  as  to  the 
outcome  of  the  examination,  a  mere  form,  a  husk, 
a  shell,  with  which  it  was  not  worth  a  man's  while 
to  quarrel.  The  people  of  the  church  —  he  had 
already  begun  to  call  them  his  people  —  were  en- 
thusiastically and  lovingly  pledged  to  him.  He 
smiled  into  their  familiar  faces  over  the  heads  of 
his  inquisitors,  and  manfully  and  cheerfully  stood 
his  ground.  All,  in  fact,  went  well  enough,  until 
the  theology  of  the  young  man  came  under  inves- 
tigation. Then  a  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
tongue,  if  one  may  say  so,  appeared  to  darken  the 
interior  of  Windover  First  Church.  The  oldest 
and  deafest  men  in  the  Council  pricked  up  their 
ears.  The  youngest  and  best-natured  grew  un- 
easy. The  candidate's  people  looked  at  him  anx- 
iously. His  uncle  flushed ;  Professor  Carruth 
coughed  sternly.  The  moderator  ruled  and  over- 
ruled, and  tried  with  troubled  kindness  to  quench 
the  warming  flame  of  ecclesiastical  censure  in 
which  many  a  bright,  devout  young  life  goes  out. 

Suddenly  Bayard  awoke  to  the  fact  that  the 
smoke  was  curling  in  the  fagots  at  his  feet ;  that 
the  stake  was  at  his  back,  the  chains  upon  his 


68  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

hands ;  that  he  was  in  danger  of  being  precon- 
demned  for  heresy  in  the  hearts  of  those  gray  old 
men,  his  elder  brothers  in  the  church,  and  dis- 
graced before  the  eyes  of  the  people  who  had  loved 
and  chosen  him. 

The  house  was  now  so  full  and  so  still  that  a 
sigh  could  be  heard  ;  and  when  a  group  from  the 
street  pushed  noisily  in,  and  stood  by  the  entrance, 
impatient  expressions  leaped  from  pew  to  pew. 
Bayard  looked  up  at  the  disturbance.  There  by 
the  green  baize  doors  stood  the  Italian,  Job  Slip, 
and  the  young  fellow  (with  the  eyebrows)  who 
did  not  drink,  two  or  three  other  spectators  of  the 
fight,  and  the  girl  in  the  reefer.  An  uninvited 
delegation  from  Angel  Alley,  these  children  of 
the  devil  had  crept  among  those  godly  men  and 
women,  and  stared  about. 

"  A  circumstance,"  complained  Mr.  Hermon 
Worcester  afterwards  to  Professor  Carruth, 
"  which  might  not  happen  on  such  an  occasion  in 
our  [New  England  churches  once  in  twenty  years." 

Bayard  had  been  singularly  gentle  and  patient 
with  his  tormentors  up  to  this  moment.  But  now 
he  gathered  himself,  and  fought  for  his  life  like  a 
man.  Brand  after  brand,  the  inventions  of  the- 
ology were  flung  hissing  upon  him. 

Did  he  believe  that  heathen,  unacquainted  with 
Christ,  were  saved? 

What  did  he  hold  became  of  the  souls  of  those 
who  died  in  infancy  ? 

If  they  happened  to  be  born  dead,  what  was 
their  fate  ? 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  69 

Explain  his  views  on  the  doctrine  of  Justifica- 
tion by  Faith. 

State  explicitly  his  conception  of  the  Trinity 
Had  none  ?  Ah  —  ah ! 

Were  the  three  Persons  in  the  Trinity  separate 
as  qualities  or  as  natures  ?  Did  not  know  ?  Ah 
—  aii. 

State  the  precise  nature,  province,  and  character 
of  each  Person.  Did  not  feel  qualified  to  do  so  ? 
Ha  —  hum. 

What  was  the  difference  between  Arianism  and 
Socimanism  ? 

Did  the  Son  exist  coordinate  with,  and  yet  sub- 
ordinate to  the  Father  ? 

What  is  the  distinction  between  the  attributes 
and  the  faculties  of  the  Deity  ? 

Did  an  impenitent  person  ever  pray  ? 

Describe  the  doctrine  of  Free  Will. 

Is  a  sinner  ever  able  to  repent,  of  his  own 
choice  ? 

Is  he  punished  for  not  being  able  to  do  so  ? 

Is  the  human  race  responsible  for  the  guilt  oi 
Adam  ? 

Why  not? 

Explain  the  process  of  sanctification,  and  the 
exact  province  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

Carefully  elucidate  your  views  on  Total  Deprav= 

Sty. 

Could  a  man  —  did  we  understand  you  ?  —  be- 
3ome  regenerate  without  waiting  for  the  compelling 
action  of  the  Holy  Spirit  ? 


70  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

Is  there  any  Scriptural  ground  for  belief  in  the 
possibility  of  a  second  probation  ?  What  ?  Please 
repeat  that  reply. 

Did  not  the  first  sin  of  a  child  justly  expose 
him  to  eternal  punishment  ?  What  ? 

At  this  point  in  the  trial,  Bayard  was  acutely 
conscious  of  the  controlled  voice  of  Professor 
Carruth,  who  had  asked  no  question  up  to  that 
moment.  Dear  old  Professor !  he  was  trying  to 
haul  his  favorite  student  out  of  the  fire  before  it 
was  too  late. 

"  But,"  he  asked  gently,  "  is  not  one  act  of  sin 
an  infinite  wrong?" 

"  I  believe  it  is ;  or  it  may  reasonably  become 
so." 

"  Is  it  not  a  wrong  committed  against  an  Infi- 
nite Being  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  is." 

"  Does  not  an  infinite  wrong  committed  against 
an  Infinite  Being  deserve  an  infinite  punish- 
ment ?  "  pleaded  the  Professor  of  Theology. 

"  You  have  taught  me  so,  sir." 

A  rustle  swept  the  house.  The  stern  face  of 
the  Professor  melted  in  its  sudden,  winning  fash- 
ion. He  drew  in  his  breath.  At  least,  the 
reputation  of  the  Department  was  secured ! 

"  Do  you  not  believe  what  you  have  been 
taught  ? " 

"  Professor,"  said  Bayard,  smiling,  "  do  you  ?  " 

It  being  well  known  that  the  now  conservative 
Professor  of  Theology  had  been  the  liberal  and 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  7l 

the  progressive  of  his  first  youth,  this  reply  cre- 
ated a  slight  smile.  But  the  Professor  did  not 
smile.  The  crisis  was  too  serious. 

"  The  candidate  does  not  deny  the  doctrine," 
he  urged.  "  He  will  undoubtedly  grow  into  it  as 
other  men  have  done  before  him." 

"  Whether  men  are  eternally  damned  "  — began 
Bayard. 

"  Job,"  whispered  the  Italian  back  by  the  door, 
"  he  swear  at  'em !  " 

"  No,  he  ain't,"  said  the  sober  fellow.  "  It 's 
the  way  they  talk  in  churches." 

"  What  tongue  is  it  they  do  speak  ?  "  persisted 
the  Italian. 

"  Blamed  if  I  know,"  whispered  Job  Slip  with 
unusual  decorum.  "  I  think  it 's  High  Dutch." 

44  No,  it  ain't ;  it 's  Latin,"  corrected  the  sober 
fellow.  "  I  can  make  out  a  word  now  and  then. 
They  translate  parts  as  they  go  along.  It 's  darn 
queer  gibberish,  ain't  it  ?  I  guess  the  natives 
used  to  talk  like  that  in  Bible  times." 

"  All  this  row,"  said  Job  Slip,  whose  befuddled 
brain  was  actively  busy  with  the  personal  fate  of 
a  minister  who  could  knock  him  down,  "  all  this 

d row  's  along  of  me.  It 's  because  he  was 

late  to  meetin  !  " 

The  Italian  nodded  seriously.  But  the  girl  in 
the  reefer  said  :  — 

u  Shut  up  there !  The  second  round 's  on, 
now." 

"  Explain    the   difference   between   verbal   and 


72  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

plenary  inspiration,"  demanded  the  small  clergy- 
man in  a  small,  suspicious  voice. 

"  There  !     I  said  it  was  High  Dutch  !  "  whis 
pered  Job  Slip  triumphantly. 

"  Explain  the  difference,"  repeated  the  small 
clergyman. 

The  candidate  explained. 

"  Is  every  word  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament 
of  the  Scriptures  equally  inspired  by  Almighty 
God?" 

"  Please  give  me  your  definition  of  inspiration," 
said  Bayard,  wheeling  upon  his  questioner. 

The  small  clergyman  objected  that  this  was  the 
candidate's  business. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  maxims  of  civil  law  that  defi- 
nitions are  dangerous,"  replied  Bayard  with  a 
smile.  But  it  was  no  time  for  smiling,  and  he 
knew  it.  He  parried  for  a  little  in  the  usual 
technicalities  of  the  schools  ;  but  it  was  without 
hope  or  interest.  He  knew  now  how  it  would  all 
end.  But  he  was  not  conscious  of  a  moment's 
hesitation.  His  soul  seemed  elate,  remote  from 
his  fate.  He  looked  out  across  the  lake  of  faces 
upturned  to  his.  He  had  now  grown  quite  pale, 
and  the  natural  fairness  of  his  skin  and  delicacy 
of  his  features  added  to  the  effect  of  transparence 
which  his  high  face  gave.  The -dullest  eye  in  the 
audience  observed,  and  the  coldest  lip  long  after- 
wards acknowledged,  the  remarkable  beauty  of 
the  man.  With  a  sudden  and  impressive  gesture 
of  the  hand,  as  if  he  cast  the  whole  merciless 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  73 

scene  away  from  him,  he  stepped  unexpectedly 
forward,  and  in  a  ringing  voice  he  said  :  - 

"  Fathers  and  brothers  of  the  church !  I  believe 
in  God  Almighty,  Maker  of  heaven  and  earth.  I 
believe  in  Jesus  Christ  his  Son,  our  Lord  and 
Saviour.  I  believe  in  the  sacredness  and  authority 
of  the  Bible,  which  contains  the  lesson  and  the  his- 
tory of  His  life.  I  believe  in  ihe  guilt  and  the 
misery  of  sin,  and  I  have  spent  the  best  years  of 
my  youth  in  your  institutions  of  sacred  learning, 
seeking  to  be  taught  how  to  teach  my  fellow-men 
to  be  better.  I  solemnly  believe  in  the  Life  Eter- 
nal, and  that  its  happiness  and  holiness  are  the 
gifts  of  Jesus  Christ  to  the  race ;  or  to  such  of  us 
as  prove  fit  survivors,  capable  of  immortality.  I 
do  not  presume  to  explain  how  or  why  this  is  or 
may  be  so ;  for  behold  we  are  shown  mysteries,  of 
which  this  is  one.  If  I  am  permitted  to  guide  the 
people  who  have  loved  and  chosen  me,  I  expect  to 
teach  them  many  truths  which  I  do  not  under- 
stand. I  shall  teach  them  none  which  I  do  not 
believe.  Fathers  and  brothers,  I  show  you  my 
soul !  Deal  with  me  as  you  will !  " 

He  stood  for  a  space,  tall,  white,  still,  with  that 
look  —  half  angel,  half  human  —  which  was  pecul- 
iar to  his  face  in  moments  of  exaltation.  His 
dazzling  eyes  blazed  for  an  instant  upon  his  tor- 
mentors, then  fell  upon  his  people  and  grew  dim. 
He  saw  their  uplifted  faces  pleadingly  turned  to 
him  :  troubled  men  whom  he  had  been  able  to 
guide ;  bereaved  women  whom  he  had  known  how 


74  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

to  comfort.  Oh,  his  people !  Tears  were  on  their 
cheeks.  Their  faces  swam  before  him.  How 
dear,  in  those  few  months  that  he  had  served 
them,  they  had  grown  !  To  stand  disgraced  before 
them,  a  stigma  on  his  Christian  name  forever, 
their  faith  deceived,  their  trust  disappointed,  —  his 
people,  to  be  his  no  more ! 

"  God !  "  he  said  in  his  heart.  "  Was  there  any 
other  way  ?  " 

An  instant's  darkness  swept  over  him,  and  his 
soul  staggered  in  it.  Then,  to  the  fine,  inner  ear 
of  the  spirit  the  answer  came  :  — 

"  In  honor,  between  Me  and  thee,  thou  hast  no 
other  way." 

The  troubled  voice  of  the  moderator  now  re- 
called him,  using  the  quaint  phrase  of  elder  times 
for  such  occasion  made  and  provided :  "  The  Coun- 
cil will  now  be  by  themselves." 

In  three  quarters  of  an  hour  the  Council  returned 
and  .reported  upon  the  examination.  Emanuel 
Bayard  was  refused  ordination  to  the  Christian 
ministry  by  a  majority  of  five. 

Now,  the  savage  that  lurks  in  the  gentlest  as- 
semblage of  men  sprang  with  a  war-cry  upon  the 
decorum  of  the  crowded  church.  Agitated  beyond 
self-control,  the  people  split  into  factions,  and  re- 
solved themselves  into  committees ;  they  wept, 
they  quarreled,  they  prayed,  and  they  condemned 
by  turns.  The  gray -haired  moderator  and  the  de- 
jected Professor,  themselves  paler  than  the  rejected 
candidate,  sought  to  convert  the  confusion  into 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  75 

something  like  order  wherewith  to  close  the  exer- 
cises of  that  miserable  day.  During  the  momen- 
tary silence  which  their  united  efforts  had  enforced^ 
a  thick  voice  from  the  swaying  crowd  was  dis- 
tinctly heard. 

Job  Slip,  who  had  somehow  managed  to  take  an 
extra  drop  from  his  pocket  bottle  during  the 
electric  disturbance  of  the  last  half  hour,  was  stag- 
gering up  the  broad  aisle,  with  the  Italian  and  the 
sober  man  at  either  elbow. 

"  Lemme  go !  "  cried  Job,  with  an  air  of  un- 
precedented politeness.  "Lemme  get  up  thar 

whar  I  ken  make  a  speech.  D ye,  I  won't 

cuss  ye,  for  this  is  a  meetin'-house,  but  I  will  make 
my  speech !  " 

"  Hush,  Job !  "  said  the  girl  in  the  sailor  hat. 
She  came  forward  before  all  the  people  and  laid 
her  hand  upon  the  drunkard's  arm.  "  Hush,  Job, 
hush!  You  bother  the  minister.  Come  away, 
Job,  come  away.  Mari  's  here,  and  the  young 
one.  Come  along  to  your  wife,  Job  Slip !  " 

"  I  '11  join  my  wife  when  I  get  ready,"  said  Job 
solemnly,  "  for  it 's  proper  that  I  should ;  but  I 
ain't  a-goin'  to  stand  by  an'  see  a  man  that  licked 
me  licked  out'n  his  rights  an'  not  do  nothin'  for 
him  !  No,  sir !  Gentlemen,"  cried  Job  pleasantly, 
assuming  an  oratorical  attitude  and  facing  round 
upon  the  disturbed  house,  "  I  '11  stick  up  for  the 
minister  every  time.  It  ain't  his  fault  he  was  late 
to  meetin'.  You  had  n't  oughter  kick  him  out  for 
that,  now  !  It 's  all  along  of  me,  gentlemen !  I 


76  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

drink  —  and  he  —  ye  see  —  don't.  I  was  threshin1 
the  life  out'n  my  little  boy  down  to  Angel  Alley, 
and  he  knocked  me  down  for  't.  Fact,  sir !  That 
there  little  minister,  he  knocked  me  down.  I  '11 
stand  by  him  every  round  now,  you  bet!  7 '11 
see 't  he  gets  his  rights  in  his  own  meetin'-house  ! ' 

Half  a  dozen  hands  were  at  Job's  mouth ;  a  dozen 
more  dragged  him  back.  The  Council  sprang  to 
their  feet  in  horror.  But  Job  squared  off,  and 
eyed  these  venerable  Christians  with  the  moral 
superiority  of  his  condition.  He  pushed  on  towards 
the  pulpit. 

"  Come  on,  Tony ! "  he  cried  to  the  Italian. 
"  Come,  Ben  !  You,  Lena !  "  He  beckoned  to 
the  girl,  who  had  shrunk  back.  "  Tell  Mari  an' 
Joey  to  f  oiler  on  !  Won't  hear  us,  won't  they  ? 
Well,  we  '11  see !  There  ain't  a  cove  of  the  lot  of 
them  could  knock  me  down  !  Jest  to  save  a  little 
f  ellar's  bones !  Gentlemen  !  look  a'  here.  Look 
at  us.  We  're  the  delegation  from  Angel  Alley, 
Sir,  Now,  sir,  what  are  you  pious  a-goin'  to  do 
with  us  ?  " 

But  a  white,  firm  hand  was  laid  upon  Job's 
shoulder.  Pale,  shining,  frowning,  Bayard  stood 
beside  him. 

"  Come,  Job,"  he  said  gently,  "  come  out  with 
me,  and  we  will  talk  it  over." 

The  broad  aisle  quickly  cleared,  and  the  rejected 
minister  left  the  church  with  the  drunkard's  hand 
upon  his  arm.  The  remainder  of  the  delegation 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  77 

from  Angel  Alley  followed  quietly,  and  the  soft, 
green  baize  doors  closed  upon  them. 

"Say,"  said  Job  Slip,  recovering  a  portion  of 
his  scattered  senses  in  the  open  air,  — "  say,  I 
thought  you  said  they  did -n't  fight  where  you  was 
goin'?" 

The  drunkard's  wife  stood  outside.  She  was 
crying.  Bayard  looked  at  her.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  Just  then  he  felt  a  tug  at  the  tail  of 
his  coat,  and  small,  warm  fingers  crept  into  his 
cold  hand.  He  looked  down.  It  was  the  little 
boy. 


VI. 

THE  real  crises  of  life  are  those  that  the  stories 
leave  untold.  It  is  not  the  sudden  blow,  but  the 
learning  how  to  bear  the  bruise  afterwards,  that 
constitutes  experience ;  not  the  delirium  of  fever, 
but  the  weariness  of  convalescence.  What  does 
one  do  the  Monday  morning  after  the  funeral? 
How  does  one  meet  the  grocery  bills  when  the 
property  is  gone  ?  How  does  a  man  act  when  his 
reputation  is  ruined  by  the  span  of  an  afternoon  ? 
Fiction  does  not  tell  us,  but  fact  omits  nothing  of 
the  grim  details ;  spares  not  the  least  stroke  of 
that  black  perplexity  which,  next  to  the  insecurity 
of  life,  is  the  hardest  thing  about  it. 

You  men  of  affairs,  give  a  moment's  manly  sym- 
pathv  to  the  position  of  a  young  fellow  like  your- 
selves, halting  just  over  the  line  between  education 
and  a  life's  work,  trained  for  a  calling  which  the 
worldliest  soul  among  you  respects  as  nobler  and 
higher  than  your  own,  tripped  at  the  outset  by  one 
of  its  lower  and  more  ignoble  accidents ;  a  man 
who  will  not  lie  to  God  or  his  own  soul,  who  has 
scorned  the  consequences  of  being  simply  true, 
but  must  bear  them  for  all  that,  like  other  men. 
For  the  holiest  dedications  in  this  world  suffer  the 
taint  thereof ;  and  it  is  at  once  the  saddest  and  the 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  79 

healthiest  thing  about  the  work  of  a  man  of  God 
that  it  is  subject  to  market  laws,  to  fashion,  to 
prejudice,  to  envy,  and  to  poor  judgment,  like 
other  work. 

It  seems  a  little  thing  to  write  about,  but  at  the 
time  it  was  not  the  least  aspect  of  the  great  crisis 
into  which  Emanuel  Bayard  had  arrived,  that, 
when  he  came  out  into  the  strong,  salt  breeze  of 
Windover  that  afternoon,  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
the  heretic  minister  that  he  had  nowhere  to  spend 
the  night.  Alas  for  the  bright  and  solemn  festival 
in  which  his  should  have  been  the  crowned  hero's 
part !  He  heard  the  excited  women  of  the  parish 
asking  each  other  :  — 

"  Who  is  going  to  eat  up  that  collation?" 

"  What  is  ever  going  to  become  of  all  that  one- 
two-three-four  cake  ?  " 

"  Feed  those  old  ministers  now  ?  Not  a  sand- 
wich !  Let  'em  go  home  where  they  belong.  If 
we  're  going  to  have  no  minister,  they  shall  have 
no  supper  !  We  '11  settle  him  in  spite  of  'em  !  " 

Thus  the  Ladies'  Aid  Association,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  shrill  voices.  But  the  deacons  and 
the  pillars  of  the  disturbed  church  collected  in 
serious  groups,  and  discussed  the  catastrophe  with 
the  dignity  of  the  voting  and  governing  sex. 

Sick  at  heart,  and  longing  to  escape  from  the 
whole  miserable  scene,  Bayard  walked  down  the 
street  alone.  His  steps  bent  blindly  to  the  sta- 
tion. When  he  had  bought  his  ticket  to  Boston, 
it  came  to  him  for  the  first  time  to  ask  himself 


80  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

where  he  was  going.  Home  ?  What  home  ? 
Whose?  Hermon  Worcester's?  That  glance  at 
his  uncle's  rigid  face  which  he  had  allowed  him- 
self back  there  in  the  church  recurred  to  him. 
The  incensed  and  disappointed  man  had  suffered 
his  smitten  boy  to  go  forth  from  that  furnace 
without  a  sign  of  sympathy.  He  had  given  Eman- 
uel  one  look :  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  were  dark 
and  dilated  with  indignation  of  the  kind  that  a 
gentleman  does  not  trust  himself  to  express. 

"  1  cannot  go  home,"  said  Emanuel  suddenly, 
half  aloud.  "  I  forgot  that.  I  shall  not  be 
wanted." 

He  put  his  ticket  in  his  wallet  and  turned 
away.  Some  people  were  hurrying  into  the  sta- 
tion, and  he  strode  to  a  side  door  to  escape  them. 
The  handsome  knob  of  an  Oriental  grapestick 
touched  his  arm.  The  white  face  of  the  Professor 
of  Theology  looked  sternly  into  his. 

"  Suppose  you  come  out  to  Cesarea  with  me  to- 
night ?  We  can  talk  this  unfortunate  affair  over 
quietly,  and  —  I  am  sure  you  misapprehend  the 
real  drift  of  some  of  these  doctrines  that  disturb 
you.  I  believe  I  could  set  you  right,  and  possi- 
bly —  another  examination  —  before  a  different 
•  Council "  — 

Bayard's  head  swam  for  an  instant.  A  girl 
in  a  muslin  dress  stood  at  the  meeting  of  the 
arms  of  the  great  cross  in  the  Seminary  lawn.  It 
was  moonlight,  and  it  was  June,  and  this  dreadful 
thing  had  never  happened.  He  was  in  that  state 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  81 

when  a  woman's  sympathy  is  the  only  one  delicate 
enough  for  a  man's  bruised  nature  to  bear.  He 
quivered  at  the  thought  of  being  touched  by  any- 
thing harsher  than  the  compassionate  approval, 
the  indignant  sorrow,  the  intelligent  heart  — 

"  No,"  he  said,  after  a  scarcely  perceptible  hesi- 
tation. "  Thank  you,  Professor  —  I  can't  do  it. 
I  should  only  disappoint  you.  I  am  almost  too 
tired  to  go  all  over  the  ground  again.  Good-by, 
Professor." 

He  held  out  his  hand  timidly.  The  thin,  high- 
veined  hand  of  the  Professor  shook  as  he  re- 
sponded to  the  grasp. 

"  I  did  n't  know,"  he  said  more  gently,  "  but 
you  would  be  more  comfortable.  Your  uncle  "  — 
the  Professor  hesitated. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  young  man  again. 
"That  was  thoughtful  in  you.  If  your  theology 
were  half  as  tender  as  your  heart,  Professor ! " 
added  the  poor  fellow,  trying  to  smile  with  the  old 
audacity  of  Professor  Carruth's  pet  student. 
But  he  shook  his  head,  and  pushed  out  of  the 
door  into  the  street. 

There  he  stood  irresolute.  What  next?  He 
was  to  have  been  the  guest  of  the  treasurer  of  the 
church  that  night,  after  the  ordination.  It  was  a 
pretty,  luxurious  home  ;  he  had  been  entertained 
there  so  often  that  he  felt  at  home  in  it ;  the 
family  had  been  his  affectionate  friends,  and  the 
children  were  fond  of  him.  He  thought  of  that 
comfortable  guest-room  with  the  weakest  pang 


82  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

that  he  had  known  yet :  he  felt  ill  enough  to  go  to 
bed.  But  they  had  not  asked  the  dishonored 
minister,  now,  to  be  their  guest.  It  did  not  occur 
to  hinio  so  sore  at  heart  was  he,  that  he  had  given 
them  no  opportunity. 

He  was  about  to  return  to  the  station,  with  a 
vague  purpose  to  seek  shelter  in  some  hotel  in  a 
village  where  nobody  knew  him,  when  a  plain, 
elderly  woman  dressed  in  black  approached  him. 
He  recognized  her  a%  one  of  the  obscurer  people  of 
his  lost  parish.  She  had  been  comforted  by  some- 
thing he  had  said  one  Sunday;  she  had  come 
timidly  to  tell  him  so,  after  the  fashion  of  such 
women ;  she  had  known  trouble,  he  remembered, 
and  poverty,  it  was  clear. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Granite  !  "  he  said  pathetically.  "  Did 
you  take  all  the  trouble  to  come  to  say  good-by  to 
me?" 

"  You  look  so  tired,  sir !  "  sobbed  Mrs.  Granite. 
"  You  look  down  sick  abed  !  We  thought  you 
was  n't  fit  to  travel  to-night,  sir,  and  if  you 
wouldn't  mind  coming  home  with  us  to  get  a 
night's  rest,  Mr.  Bayard  ?  We  live  very  poor,  sir, 
not  like  you ;  but  me  and  my  girl,  we  could  n't 
bear  to  see  you  going  off  so !  We  'd  take  it  for  an 
honor,  Mr.  Bayard,  sir !  " 

"I  will  come,"  said  the  weary  man.  And  he 
went,  at  once.  Certain  words  confusedly  recurred 
to  him  as  he  walked  silently  beside  Mrs.  Granite, 
"  He  had  not  where,"  they  ran,  —  "  He  had  not 
where  to  lay  his  head." 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  83 

The  light  burned  late  in  the  clean,  spare  room  in 
the  cottage  of  the  fisherman's  widow  on  Windover 
Point  that  night. 

Early  in  the  morning  her  mother  sent  Jane 
Granite  running  for  the  doctor;  and  by  night 
it  was  well  known  in  Windover  that  the  new 
minister  was  ill.  He  was  threatened  with  some- 
thing with  a  Latin  name  ;  not  epidemic  in  Wind- 
over,  whose  prevailing  diseases  are  measles  and 
alcoholism.  Mrs.  Granite  found  the  minister's 
anticipated  malady  hard  to  pronounce  ;  but  Jane, 
who  had  been  at  the  high  school,  called  it  menin- 
gitis. 

But  here  again  fact  dealt  with  Emanuel  Bayard 
as  no  respectable  fiction  could  be  expected  to.  An 
interesting  delirium  or  deadly  fever  might  have 
changed  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  Had  he 
fallen  then  and  there  a  martyr  to  his  fate,  the 
sympathy  of  the  town,  the  interest  of  the  denom- 
ination, the  affection  of  his  lost  parish,  the  peni- 
tent anxiety  of  Mr.  Hermon  Worcester,  would  — 
how  easily !  —  have  marked  out  his  future  for  him 
in  flower-beds  that  seemed  forsooth  to  be  the  vine- 
yard of  the. Lord;  and  he  might  have  done  a  deal 
of  pleasant  hoeing  and  trimming  there,  like  other 
men,  till  harvest  time.  But  floriculture  is  small 
pastime  for  the  sinew  elected  to  cut  thickets  and 
to  blaze  forests  ;  and  he  arose  to  tear  and  bleed 
at  his  self -chosen  brambles  as  God  decreed. 

He  had  not  meningitis ;  he  suffered  no  mortal 
malady ;  he  did  but  lie  helpless  for  two  weeks 


84  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

under  one  of  those  serious  nsrvous  collapses  which 
seem  ignominy  to  a  young  man.  During  these 
critical  days  his  people  elect  and  lost  had  plenty 
of  time  to  quarrel  over  him,  or  to  send  him  currant 
jelly.  And  the  wife  of  the  treasurer  was  reported 
to  have  said  that  he  ought  to  be  in  her  house.  But 
Mrs.  Granite  and  Jane  nursed  him  adoringly,  and 
as  soon  as  the  doctor  permitted,  Jane  brought  the 
patient  his  mail.  It  contained  a  curt  but  civil 
letter  from  his  uncle,  regretting  to  learn  that  he 
had  been  indisposed,  and  requesting  an  interview. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel,  Emanuel  went 
to  Boston. 

An  unexpected  incident  which  happened  on  the 
morning  that  he  left  Windover  gave  back  some- 
thing of  the  natural  fire  to  his  eyes,  and  he  looked 
less  ill  than  Mr.  Worcester  had  expected,  when 
they  met  in  the  library  on  Beacon  Street. 

This  circumstance  checked  the  slightly  rising 
tide  of  sympathy  in  his  uncle's  feeling  ;  and  it 
was  with  scarcely  more  than  civility  that  the  elder 
man  opened  the  conversation. 

"  I  wish  to  discuss  this  situation  with  you, 
Emanuel,  once  for  all.  You  have  for  some  time 
avoided  the  issue  between  us  which  is  bound  to 
come." 

"  I  have  avoided  nothing,"  interrupted  Emanuel 
proudly. 

14  It  is  the  same  thing.  You  have  never  met 
me  halfway.  The  time  has  come  when  we  must 
have  it  out.  You  know,  of  course,  perfectly  well 


A   SINGULAR  {LIFE.  85 

vvhat  a  blow  this  thing  has  been  to  me  —  the  mor- 
tification —  the  ...  After  all  I  have  done  foa 
you"- 

The  cold,  clear-cut  features  of  Hermon  Wor- 
cester's face  became  suffused;  he  put  his  hand 
against  his  heart,  and  gasped.  For  the  first  time 
it  occurred  to  the  young  man  that  the  elder,  too, 
had  suffered ;  with  a  quick  exclamation  of  sym- 
pathy or  anxiety,  he  turned  to  reply,  but  Mr. 
Worcester  got  to  his  feet,  and  began  to  pace  the 
library  hotly. 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ? "  he  cried. 
"  Seven  years  of  higher  education,  and  —  how 
many  trips  to  Europe?  And  all  the  —  that  — 
feeling  a  man  has  for  a  child  he  has  brought  up 
—  wasted,  worse  than  wasted !  What  do  you 
propose  to  do?  Thirty  years  old,  and  a  failure 
at  the  start !  A  disgrace  to  the  faith  of  your 
fathers !  A  blot  on  an  old  religious  name ! 
Come,  now !  what  next  ?  .  .  .  I  suppose  1  could 
find  you  a  place  to  sweep  a  store,"  added  Hermon 
Worcester  bitingly. 

Emanuel  had  flushed  darkly,  and  then  his  swift 
pallor  came  on. 

"  Uncle,"  he  said  distinctly,  "  I  think  this  in- 
terview we  have  been  preparing  for  so  long  may 
as  well  be  dispensed  with.  It  seems  to  me  quite 
useless.  I  can  only  grieve  you,  sir ;  and  you  can- 
not  comfort  me." 

"  Comfort !  "  sneered  the  other,  with  his  least 
agreeable  expression ;  for  Hermon  Worcester  had 
many,  in  frequent  use. 


86  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"Well,"  said  Emanuel,  "yes.  There  are  times 
when  even  a  heretic  may  need  something  of  that 
sort.  But  I  was  about  to  say  that  I  think  it  idle 
for  us  to  talk.  My  plans  are  now  quite  formed." 

"  Indeed,  sir ! "  said  Mr.  Worcester,  stopping 
short. 

"  I  have  been  invited  by  a  minority  of  my 
people  to  start  a  new  work  in  Windover,  of  which 
they  propose  that  I  shall  become  the  leader." 

"  Not  the  pastor !  "  observed  Mr.  Worcester. 

"  Yes,  the  pastor,  —  that  was  the  word.  It  will 
be  a  work  quite  independent  of  the  old  church." 

"  And  of  the  old  faith,  eh  ?  " 

"  Of  the  old  traditions,  some  of  them,"  replied 
Emanuel  gently ;  "  not  of  the  old  truth,  I  hope. 
I  cannot  hope  for  your  sympathy  in  this  step.  I 
have  decided  to  take  it.  It  strikes  me,  Uncle, 
that  we  had  better  not  discuss  the  matter." 

"  His  mother  before  him !  "  cried  Hermon  Wor- 
cester, violently  striding  up  and  down  the  velvet 
carpet  of  the  library,  "  I  went  through  it  with  his 
mother  before  him,  —  this  abhorrent  indifference 
to  the  demands  of  birth  and  training,  this  scandal, 
this  withdrawal  from  the  world,  this  publicity 
given  to  family  differences,  the  whole  miserable 
business !  She  for  love,  and  you  for  —  I  suppose 
you  call  it  religion !  I  can't  go  through  it  again, 
and  I  won't !  It  is  asking  too  much  of  me !  " 

"  I  ask  nothing  of  you,  Uncle,"  said  the  young 
man,  rising. 

"  You  '11  end  in  infidelity,  sir.     You  will  be  an 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  .         87 

agnostic  in  a  year's  time.  You'll  be  preaching 
positivism !  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it ! 
I  warned  you  before,  Manuel,  —  back  there  in 
Cesarea.  I  am  forced  to  repeat  myself.  Under 
the  circumstances,  you  will  not  expect  a  dollar 
from  me.  I  would  as  soon  leave  my  property  to 
an  atheist  club  as  to  you,  and  your  second  proba- 
tions, and  your  uninspired  Bibles !  " 

Mr.  Worcester  snapped  in  the  private  drawer 
of  his  desk,  and  locked  it  with  unnecessary  force 
and  symbolism. 

"  I  don't  forbid  you  my  house,  mind.  I  sha'n't 
turn  you  into  the  street.  You  '11  starve  into  your 
senses  fast  enough  on  any  salary  that  the  rabble 
down  in  that  fishing-town  can  raise  for  you. 
When  you  do  —  come  back  to  me.  Keep  your 
latch-key  in  your  pocket.  You  will  want  to  use 
it  some  day." 

"  I  must  run  my  chances,  sir,"  said  Bayard  in  a 
voice  so  low  that  it  was  scarcely  audible.  Instinc- 
tively he  drew  his  latch-key  from  his  pocket  and 
held  it  out;  but  Mr.  Hermon  Worcester  did  not 
deign  to  notice  it.  "  I  have  never  thought  about 
your  money,  Uncle.  I  'm  not  that  kind  of  fellow, 
exactly.  You  have  always  been  good  to  me,  Un- 
cle Hermon !  "  He  choked,  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  say  good-by. 

"  But  look  here  —  see  here  —  you  '11  stay  to  din- 
ner? You'll  go  up  to  your  room,  Manuel?" 
stammered  the  elder  man.  "  I  explicitly  told  you 
that  I  did  n't  drive  you  out  of  your  home.  I  don't 


88  A    SINGULAR  LIFE. 

desire  any  scene  —  any  unnecessary  scandal.  I 
wish  you  to  understand  that  you  are  not  turned 
into  the  street." 

"  I  have  promised  to  be  in  Windover  this  even 
ing,  to  settle  this  matter,"  replied    Bayard.     He 
looked  over  his  uncle's  head,  through  the  old,  pur 
pie,  Beacon    Street    glass,    upon    the    waters    of 
Charles  River ;  then  softly  closed  the  library  door, 
looked  for  a  moment  about  the  dark,  familiar  hall, 
took  his  hat  from  the  peg  on  the  carved  mahogany 
tree  where  he  had  hung  his  cap  when  he  was  a 
little  boy  in  Latin  School,  and  went  down  the  long, 
stone  steps. 

It  occurred  to  him  to  go  back  and  tell  Partredge 
and  Nancy  to  look  after  his  uncle  carefully,  but  he 
remembered  that  he  had  no  reason  to  give  them 
for  his  indefinite  absence,  bethought  himself  of  his 
uncle's  horror  of  airing  family  affairs  before  ser- 
vants, and  so  went  on. 

He  walked  up  the  street  slowly,  for  he  was 
weak  yet.  At  the  door  of  an  old  friend,  he  was 
tempted  to  pause  and  rest,  but  collected  his  senses, 
and  struggled  on. 

He  turned  to  look  for  a  cab  ;  then  remembered 
that  he  had  no  longer  fifty  cents  to  waste  upon  so 
mere  a  luxury  as  the  economy  of  physical  strength^ 
It  was  his  first  lesson  in  poverty, —  that  a  sick 
man  must  walk,  because  he  could  not  afford  to 
ride.  Besides,  it  proved  to  be  a  private  carriage 
that  he  had  seen.  The  elderly  coachman,  evi- 
dently a  family  retainer,  had  just  shut  the  door 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  89 

and  clambered  to  the  box ;  he  was  waiting  to  tuck 
the  green  cloth  robe  deliberately  about  his  elegant 
legs,  when  a  low  exclamation  from  the  coach  win- 
dow caused  Bayard  to  look  back. 

Helen  Carruth  had  opened  the  door,  and  stood 
irresolute,  with  one  foot  upon  the  step,  as  if  half 
her  mind  were  in,  and  half  were  out  the  carriage. 
She  was  richly  dressed  in  purple  cloth,  and  had 
that  fashionable  air  which  he  could  not  conceive  of 
her  as  dispensing  with  if  she  were  a  missionary  in 
Tahiti.  She  looked  vivid,  vital,  warm,  and  some- 
how, gorgeous  to  him. 

"  You  ?  "  she  cried  joyously ;  then  seemed  to 
recall  herself,  and  stepped  back. 

He  went  up  to  her  at  once. 

"  I  have  been  staying  with  Clara  Kollins  for  a 
week,"  she  hastened  to  say.  "  I  am  just  going 
home.  It 's  her  afternoon  at  the  Portuguese  Mis- 
sion, so  she  could  not  see  me  off.  I  did  not  know 
you  were  in  town,  Mr.  Bayard." 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Bayard,  smiling  wanly.  "  I 
am  on  my  way  to  Windover  ;  I  am  late  to  rny  train 
now." 

"  Why,  jump  in  !  "  said  the  young  lady  heartily, 
ic  We  are  going  the  same  way  ;  and  I  'm  sure  Mrs,, 
Rollins  would  be  delighted  to  have  you.  She  's  at 
the  Woman's  Branch." 

"  The  Woman's  who  ?  "  asked  Bayard,  laughing 
for  the  first  time  for  many  days.  He  had  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment ;  then  stepped  into  the  car 
riage,  and  shut  the  door, 


90  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

"  I  presume  you  'ye  been  in  this  vehicle  before  ?  * 
began  Miss  Carruth. 

He  nodded,  smiling  still. 

"  At  intervals,  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember. 
Miss  Clara  and  I  used  to  go  to  the  same  dancing- 
school." 

"  Mrs.  Rollins  was  saying  only  yesterday  what 
an  age  it  was  since  they  had  seen  you  —  Mr.  Bay- 
ard !  "  she  broke  off,  "  you  look  ill.  You  are  ill." 

He  had  sunk  back  upon  the  olive  satin  cushions. 
The  familiar  sense  of  luxury  and  ease  came  upon 
him  like  a  wave  of  mortal  weakness.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  did  not  trust  himself  to  look  at  the  girl 
beside  him.  Her  beauty,  her  gayety,  her  health, 
her  freedom  from  care,  something  even  in  her 
personal  elegance  overcame  him.  She  seemed  to 
whirl  before  his  eyes,  the  laughing  figure  of  a 
happy  Fortune,  the  dainty  symbol  of  the  life  that 
he  had  left  and  lost.  The  deliberate  coachman 
was  now  driving  rapidly,  and  they  were  well  on 
their  way  over  Beacon  Hill.  She  gave  Bayard 
one  of  her  long,  steady  looks.  Something  of 
timidity  stole  over  her  vivacious  face. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,"  she  said  in  a  changed  tone,  "  I 
have  heard  all  about  it  from  my  father.  I  wanted 
fco  tell  you,  but  I  had  no  way.  I  am  glad  to  have 
a  chance  to  say  —  I  am  sorry  for  you  with  all  my 
heart.  And  with  all  my  soul,  I  honor  you." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  'the  disheartened  man.  "  Then 
I  honor  myself  the  more." 

He  turned  now,  and  looked  at  her  gratefully. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  91 

This  first  drop  of  human  sympathy  from  man  or 
woman  of  his  own  kind  was  inexpressibly  sweet  to 
him.  He  could  have  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 
But  they  were  in  Mrs.  Rollins's  carriage,  and  on 
Beacon  Street. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Helen  suddenly.  "  Look  there ! 
No,  there!  See  that  poor,  horrible  fellow !  Why, 
he  's  arrested !  The  policemen  are  carrying  him 
pff." 

They  had  now  reached  Tremont  Street,  where 
the  young  lady  had  an  errand  which  had  decided 
her  direction  to  the  northern  stations.  But  for 
the  trifling  circumstance  that  Helen  Carruth  had 
promised  her  mother  to  bring  out  from  a  famous 
Boston  grocer's  that  particular  brand  of  olive  oil 
which  alone  was  worthy  of  a  salad  for  the  Trus- 
tees' lunch,  the  event  which  followed  would  never 
have  occurred.  Thus  may  the  worry  of  a  too  ex- 
cellent housekeeper  lay  its  petty  finger  upon  the 
future  of  a  man  or  of  an  enterprise. 

Bayard  looked  out  of  the  carriage  window,  and 
uttered  a  disturbed  exclamation.  Struggling  in 
the  iron  grip  of  two  policemen  of  assorted  sizes, 
the  form  and  the  tongue  of  Job  Slip  were  forcibly 
ornamenting  Tremont  Row. 

"  I  must  go.  I  must  leave  you.  Excuse  me. 
Drive  on  without  me,  Miss  Carruth.  That  is  a 
friend  of  mine  in  trouble  there." 

Bayard  stopped  the  coachman  with  an  imperious 
tap,  and  a  "  Hold  on,  John !  " 

"  A  what  of  yours  ?  "  cried  Helen. 


92  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"It  is  one  of  my  people,"  explained  Bayard 
curtly.  He  leaped  from  the  carriage,  raised  his 
hat,  and  ran. 

"  Just  release  this  man,  if  you  please,"  he  said 
to  the  police  authoritatively.  "  I  know  him  ;  I  am 
his  minister.  I  'm  going  on  the  train  he  meant  to 
take.  I  '11  see  him  safely  home.  I  '11  answer  for 
him." 

"Well  —  I  don't  know  about  that,  sir,"  replied 
the  smaller  policeman  doubtfully. 

But  the  larger  one  looked  Bayard  over,  and 
made  answer :  "  Oh,  bejabers,  Tim,  let  'im  goa  !  " 

Job,  who  was  not  too  far  gone  to  recognize  his 
preserver,  now  threw  his  arms  affectionately  around 
Bayard's  recoiling  neck,  and  became  unendurably 
maudlin.  In  a  voice  audible  the  width  of  the 
street,  and  with  streaming  tears  and  loathsome 
blessings,  he  identified  Bayard  as  his  dearest,  best, 
nearest,  and  most  intimate  of  friends.  A  laughing 
crowd  collected  and  followed,  as  Bayard  tried  to 
hurry  to  the  station,  encumbered  by  the  grip  of 
Job's  intoxicated  affection.  Now  falling,  now 
staggering  up,  now  down  again,  and  ever  firmly 
held,  Job  looked  up  drunkenly  into  the  white, 
delicate  face  that  seemed  to  rise  above  him  by  a 
space  as  far  as  the  span  between  the  heavens  and 
the  earth.  Stupidly  he  was  aware  that  the  new 
minister  was  doing  something  by  him  that  was  not 
exactly  usual.  He  began  to  talk  in  thick,  hy- 
phenated sentences  about  his  wife  and  home,  his 
boy,  and  the  trip  he  had  taken  to  Georges'.  He 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  93 

had  made,  he  averred,  a  hundred  dollars  (which 
was  possible),  and  had  two  dollars  and  thirty-seven 
cents  left  (which  was  altogether  probable).  Job 
complained  that  he  had  been  robbed  in  Boston  of 
the  difference,  and,  weeping,  besought  the  new 
minister  to  turn  back  and  report  the  theft  to  the 
police. 

"  We  shall  lose  the  train,  Job,"  said  Bayard 
firmly.  "  We  must  get  home  to  your  wife  and 
little  boy." 

"  Go  wherever  y'  say !  "  cried  Job  pleasantly, 
"  Go  to  h —  along  of  you,  if  you  say  so !  " 

There  was  something  so  grotesque  in  the  situa- 
tion that  Bayard's  soul  recoiled  within  him.  He 
was  not  used  to  this  kind  of  thing.  He  was  no 
Christ,  but  a  plain  human  man,  and  a  young  man 
at  that.  His  sense  of  dignity  was  terribly  hurt. 
Without  turning  his  head,  he  knew  when  the  car- 
riage drove  on.  He  felt  her  eyes  upon  him ;  he 
knew  the  moment  when  she  took  them  off;  Job 
was  attempting  to  kiss  him  at  that  particular 
crisis. 

Bayard  managed  to  reach  the  last  platform  of 
the  last  car  as  it  moved  out  of  the  station,  and  to 
get  his  charge  to  Windover  without  an  accident. 
He  had  plenty  of  time  for  reflection  on  the  trip  ; 
but  he  reflected  as  little  as  possible.  With  his  arm 
linked  firmly  through  Job's  and  his  eyes  closed,  he 
became  a  seer  of  visions,  not  a  thinker  of  thoughts. 
Her  face  leaned  out  of  the  carriage  window,  — 
faded,  formed,  and  dimmed,  and  formed  again. 


94  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

He  saw  the  velvet  on  her  dress,  the  little  dash  of 
gold  color  on  her  purple  bonnet,  the  plain  distin- 
guished fashion  of  her  yellow  hair  about  her  fore- 
head. He  saw  the  astonishment  leap  into  her 
brown  eyes,  and  that  look  which  no  sibyl  could 
have  interpreted,  forming  about  her  merry  lips. 
He  heard  the  coachman  say,  "  Shall  I  drive  on, 
Miss  ?  "  And  the  answer,  "  Yes,  John,  drive  on. 
I  must  not  miss  the  train." 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  sullen  horizon 
of  the  sea  across  the  marshes,  and  the  loathsome 
face  of  Job  leaning  against  the  casement  of  the 
car  window  at  his  side. 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  Windover,  Slip 
was  sleepy  and  quite  manageable.  Bayard  con- 
sulted his  watch.  It  was  the  hour  for  his  evening 
appointment  with  the  officers  of  the  new  parish. 

"  Again ! "  he  thought.  He  looked  at  the 
drunkard  wearily.  Then  the  flash  of  inspiration 
fired  his  tired  face. 

"  Come,  Job/'  he  said  suddenly.  "  Never  mind 
our  suppers.  Come  with  me." 

He  took  Job  as  he  was,  —  torpid,  sodden,  dis- 
gusting, a  creature  of  the  mud,  a  problem  of  the 
mire.  The  committee  sat  in  the  anxious  conclave 
of  people  embarked  upon  a  doubtful  and  unpopu- 
lar enterprise.  Emanuel  Bayard  pushed  Job  Slip 
before  him  into  the  pretty  parlors  of  the  ex-treas- 
urer of  the  old  First  Church.  For  the  treasurer 
had  followed  the  come-outers.  He  had  joined  the 
poor  and  humble  people  who,  in  fear  and  faith, 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  95 

had  tremblingly  organized  the  experiment  for 
which,  as  yet,  they  had  no  other  name  than  that 
they  gave  it  in  their  prayers.  Christ's  work,  they 
called  it,  then.  The  treasurer  was  their  only 
man  of  property.  His  jaw  dropped  when  he  saw 
Job. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  young  pastor,  "gentle- 
men, I  have  brought  you  a  sample  of  the  material 
under  discussion.  What  are  we  going  to  do  with 
this?" 


VII. 

JANE  GRANITE  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steep, 
uncarpeted  stairs.  She  had  a  stone-china  cup 
filled  with  tea  in  her  hand.  She  had  hesitation 
in  her  mind,  and  longing  in  her  heart.  When  the 
minister  had  sent  word  that  he  would  eat  no  sup- 
per, it  was  plain  that  something  must  be  done. 
Her  mother  was  out,  and  Jane  had  no  superior 
intelligence  to  consult.  For  Mrs.  Granite  was 
appointed  to  the  doom  that  overtakes  the  women 
of  a  poor  and  struggling  religious  movement ;  she 
was  ex-officio  beggar  for  the  new  mission ;  on  this 
especial  occasion  she  was  charged  with  the  duty 
of  wringing  a  portion  of  the  minister's  almost 
invisible  salary  out  of  the  least  unfriendly  citizens 
of  the  town.  The  minister  had  observed  her  from 
his  window,  tugging  at  her  black  skirts  as  she  sal- 
lied forth,  ankle-deep,  in  the  slush  of  the  February 
afternoon ;  and  his  brows  had  darkened  at  the 
sight.  For  the  good  woman  would  trudge  and 
soak  five  miles  for  —  what?  Possibly  five  dollars. 
How  dreary  the  devices  of  small  people  to  achieve 
large  ends ! 

To  the  young  man  who  had  never  had  to  think 
what  anything  cost,  the  cold,  pecuniary  facts  of 
his  position  were  galling  past  the  power  of  these 
simple  people  to  comprehend. 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  97 

He  did  not  care  too  much  on  his  own  account. 
He  felt  more  surprise  than  impatience  to  see  his 
coat  turn  shiny  and  frayed,  and  to  know  that  he 
could  not  get  another.  He  was  learning  not  to 
mind  his  straw  mattress  as  much  as  he  did.  at 
first ;  and  to  educate  himself  to  going  without 
magazines,  and  to  the  quality  of  Mrs.  Granite's 
tea.  When  a  man  deliberately  elects  a  great 
personal  sacrifice,  he  does  not  concern  himself 
with  its  details  as  women  are  more  likely  to  do. 

But  there  were  aspects  of  his  chosen  work  to 
which  his  soul  was  as  sore  as  a  boy's.  He  could 
not  accustom  himself  with  the  ease  of  a  poor 
man's  son  to  the  fact  that  a  superb,  supreme  faith 
like  the  Christianity  of  Christ  must  beg  for  its 
living.  "  It  degrades  !  "  he  thought,  looking  up 
from  his  books.  "  Lowell  was  right  when  he  said 
that  no  man  should  preach  who  had  n't  an  in- 
dependent property."  His  Bible  fell  from  his 
clenched  hand;  he  picked  it  up  penitently,  and 
tenderly  smoothed  the  crumpled  leaf  at  which 
it  had  opened.  Half  unconsciously,  he  glanced, 
and  read :  — 

"  Take  no  scrip  in  your  purse ; "  his  burning 
eye  followed  along  the  page  ;  softened,  and  grew 
moist. 

"  Perhaps  on  the  whole,"  he  said  aloud,  "  He 
really  knew  as  much  about  it  as  any  American 
poet." 

He  returned  patiently  to  his  preparation  for  the 
evening  service,  for  he  worked  hard  for  these  fish- 


98  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

ermen  and  drunkards  —  harder  than  he  had  ever 
worked  at  anything  in  his  life.  To  make  them 
one  half  hour's  talk,  he  read,  he  ransacked,  he 
toiled,  he  thought,  he  dreamed,  he  prayed. 

The  only  thing  which  he  had  asked  leave  to 
take  from  his  uncle's  house,  was  his  own  library,, 
It  piled  Mrs.  Granite's  spare  chamber  from  the 
old,  brown  carpet  to  the  low  and  dingy  ceiling. 
Barricades  of  books  stood  on  the  floor  by  the  ugly 
little  coal-stove ;  and  were  piled  upon  the  stained 
pine  table  at  which  he  sat  to  study  in  a  hard 
wood  chair  with  a  turkey-red  cushion.  Of  the 
pictures,  dear  to  his  youth,  and  to  his  trained  taste, 
but  two  had  come  through  with  him  in  the  flying 
leap  from  Beacon  Street  to  Mrs.  Granite's.  Over 
the  table  in  his  study  a  fine  engraving  watched 
him.  It  was  Guide's  great  Saint  Michael.  Above 
the  straw  mattress  in  the  chilly  closet  where  he 
slept  hung  a  large  photograph  of  Leonardo's 
Christ ;  the  one  from  the  Last  Supper,  as  it  was 
found  in  the  ruined  fresco  on  the  monastery  wall. 

But  Jane  Granite  stood  irresolute  upon  the 
bare,  steep  stairs,  with  the  stone-china  teacup  in 
her  hand. 

The  minister  had  never  concentrated  his  mind 
on  Jane.  He  was  a  busy  man.  She  was  a  mod- 
est, quiet  girl ;  she  helped  her  mother  "  do "  his 
rooms,  and  never  slammed  the  door  when  she  went 
out.  He  felt  a  certain  gratitude  to  her,  for  the 
two  women  took  trouble  for  him  far  beyond  the 
merits  of  the  meagre  sum  allowed  them  for  his 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  99 

bread  and  codfish.  But  for  the  life  of  him,  if  he 
had  been  required  to,  he  could  not  have  told  any- 
body how  Jane  Granite  looked. 

When  her  timid  knock  struck  the  panel  of  his 
door,  he  started  impatiently,  put  down  his  pen, 
and  patiently  bade  her  enter. 

"  I  thought  perhaps,  sir  —  you  would  drink  your 
tea?  "  pleaded  Jane.  "  You  have  n't  eaten  a  mor- 
sel, and  mother  will  mind  it  when  she  comes 
home." 

Bayard  looked  at  her  in  a  dazed  way ;  trying  to 
see  the  connection  between  forty-cent  Japan  tea 
and  that  beautiful  thing  said  of  Whitefield,  that 
he  "  forgot  all  else  about  the  men  before  him,  but 
their  immortality  and  their  misery." 

"  It 's  getting  cold,"  said  Jane,  with  quivering 
lip.  "  I  stood  on  the  stairs  so  long  before  I  could 
make  up  my  mind  to  disturb  you.  Let  me  get  a 
hot  cup,  now,  sir  —  do !  " 

"Why,  I'll  come  down!"  said  Bayard.  "I 
must  not  make  myself  as  troublesome  as  this." 

He  pushed  away  his  books,  and  followed  her  to 
the  sitting-room,  where,  in  default  of  a  dining- 
room,  and  in  vague  deference  to  the  antecedents 
of  a  guest  popularly  reported  not  to  be  used  to 
eating  in  the  kitchen,  the  meals  of  the  family 
were  served. 

"  Maybe  you  'd  eat  the  fish-hash  —  a  mouthful, 
sir?"  asked  Jane,  brightening,  "and  there's  the 
stewed  prunes." 

Bayard  looked  at  her,  as  she  ran  to  and  fro, 


100  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

flushed  and  happy  at  her  little  victory  over  his 
supperless  intentions.  Jane  was  a  trig,  neat 
body ;  small,  as  the  coast  girls  often  are  —  I 
wonder  why?  whether  because  the  mother  was 
under-fed  or  over-anxious  when  the  fleets  were  out? 
Jane  Granite  wore  a  blue  gingham  dress,  closely 
fitted  to  a  pleasant  figure.  She  had  a  pleasant 
face,  too ;  she  had  no  beauty,  but  that  certain 
something  more  attractive  than  beauty  to  many 
men,  —  a  kind  of  compactness  of  feature,  and  an 
ease  of  outline  which  haunts  the  retina ;  it  is  not 
easy  to  describe,  but  we  all  know  it.  Her  mother 
had  told  the  minister  that  Jane  was  keeping  com- 
pany —  that  is  the  Windover  phrase  —  with  some 
one ;  the  details  had  escaped  his  memory. 

He  looked  at  her,  now,  for  the  first  time  atten- 
tively, as  she  served  his  tea.  She  flitted  to  and 
fro  lightly.  She  sang  in  the  kitchen  when  she  saw 
him  smile.  When  he  said,  "  Thank  you,  Jane ! 
You  have  given  me  a  delicious  supper,"  a  charm- 
ing expression  crossed  her  face.  He  observed  it 
abstractedly,  and  thought :  How  kind  these  good 
people  are  to  me !  The  paper  shades  were  up, 
and  Jane  wished  to  draw  them  when  she  lighted 
the  kerosene  lamp  ;  but  Bayard  liked  to  watch  the 
sea,  as  he  often  did  at  twilight.  The  harbor  was 
full,  for  the  weather  was  coming  on  wild.  Clouds 
marshaled  and  broke,  and  retreated,  and  formed 
upon  a  stormy  sky.  The  lights  of  anchored  fleets 
tossed  up  and  down  in  the  violet-gray  shadow.  The 
breakers  growled  upon  the  opposite  shore.  The 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  101 

best  thing  about  his  lodging  was  its  near  and  al- 
most unobstructed  view  of  the  sea,  which  dashed 
against  a  slip  of  a  beach  between  the  wharves  of 
Windover  Point,  within  a  thousand  feet  of  Mrs. 
Granite's  cottage. 

As  he  sat,  sipping  his  green  tea,  and  making  be- 
lieve with  his  hash,  to  save  the  feelings  of  the  girl ; 
watching  the  harbor  steadily  and  quietly,  the  while, 
and  saying  nothing  —  he  was  startled  by  the  ap- 
parition of  a  man's  face,  pressed  stealthily  against 
the  window-pane,  and  disappearing  as  quickly  as  it 
came.  Bayard  had  been  sitting  between  the  win- 
dow and  the  light.  Jane  was  dishing  out  his 
prunes  from  a  vegetable  dish  into  a  blue  willow 
saucer,  and  had  seen  nothing.  Wishing  not  to 
alarm  the  girl,  he  went  to  the  window  quietly,  and 
looked  out.  As  he  did  so,  he  perceived  that  the 
intruder  had  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  front 
door.  Bayard  sprang,  and  the  two  met  in  the  cot- 
tage entry. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  began  Bayard, 
barring  the  way. 

"  I  guess  I  'd  better  ask  what  are  you  a-doin' 
here,"  replied  the  other,  crowding  by  the  minister 
with  one  push  of  an  athletic  shoulder.  "  I  'm  on 
my  own  ground.  I  ain't  so  sure  of  you." 

Little  Jane  uttered  a  cry,  and  the  athletic  young 
man  strode  forward,  and  somewhat  ostentatiously 
put  his  arm  about  her  waist. 

"  Ah,  I  see !  "  smiled  the  minister.  "  It  is 
strange  that  we  have  not  met  before.  We  must 


102  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

often  have  been  in  the  house  at  the  same  time.  I 
am  a  little  absent-minded.  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault. 
A  hundred  pardons,  Mr. ?" 

Trawl.  Ben  Trawl  was  the  name.  Ben  Trawl 
was  not  cordial.  Perhaps  that  would  be  asking 
too  much  of  the  lover  who  had  been  mistaken  for 
a  burglar  by  another  man  ;  and  the  young  minister 
was  already  quite  accustomed  to  the  varying  ex- 
pressions with  which  a  provincial  town  receives 
the  leader  of  an  unpopular  cause.  He  recognized 
Ben  Trawl  now ;  —  the  young  man  who  had  the 
straight  eyebrows,  and  who  did  not  drink,  who  had 
been  one  of  the  crowd  at  the  fight  in  Angel  Alley 
on  the  ordination  day  which  never  had  ordained. 

The  pastor  found  the  situation  embarrassing, 
and  was  glad  when  Mrs.  Granite  came  in,  soaked 
through,  and  tired,  with  drabbled  skirts. 

She  had  collected  six  dollars  and  thirty-seven 
cents. 

Bayard  ground  his  teeth,  and  escaped  to  his 
stud 3^  as  soon  as  he  could.  There  they  heard  him, 
pacing  up  and  down  hotly,  till  seven  o'clock.  Bay- 
ard had  arranged  one  of  those  piteous  attempts  to 
"  amuse  the  people,"  into  which  so  much  wealth 
of  heart  and  brain  is  flung,  with  such  atmospheric 
results.  His  notion  of  religious  teaching  did  not 
end  with  the  Bible,  though  it  began  there.  The 
fishermen  who  had  irreverently  named  the  present 
course  of  talks  "  the  Dickens,"  crowded  to  hear 
them,  nevertheless.  The  lecture  of  that  evening 
("Sydney  Carton,"  he  called  it)  was  a  venture 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  103 

upon  which  Bayard  had  expended  a  good  deal  of 
thought  and  vitality. 

Poor,  wet  Mrs.  Granite  waded  out  again,  without 
a  murmur,  to  hear  it ;  she  walked  beside  the  minis- 
ter, alone ;  it  was  a  long  walk,  for  the  new  people 
met  in  the  well-known  hall  near  the  head  of  Angel 
Alley. 

"  Ben  Trawl 's  kinder  off  his  hook,"  she  explained 
apologetically.  "  He  would  n't  come  along  of  us, 
nor  he  would  n't  let  Jane  come,  neither.  He  has 
them  spells." 

Jane  Granite  watched  them  off  with  aching 
heart.  As  he  closed  the  door,  the  minister  smiled 
and  lifted  his  hat  to  her.  Where  was  there  a  smile 
like  his  in  all  the  world  of  men  ?  And  where  a 
man  who  thought  or  knew  so  little  of  the  magic 
which  his  beauty  wrought  ? 

For  love  of  this  radiance  and  this  wonder  the 
heart  of  the  coldest  woman  of  the  world  might  have 
broken.  Little  Jane  Granite  looked  after  him  till 
he  was  drowned  in  the  dark.  She  came  in  and 
stood  at  the  window,  busying  herself  to  draw  the 
shade.  But  Ben  Trawl  watched  her  with  half- 
closed  eyes ;  and  when  bright,  wide  eyes  turn  dull 
and  narrow,  beware  of  them  ! 

"  Come  here  !  "  said  Ben,  in  the  voice  of  a  man 
who  had  "kept  company"  with  a  girl  for  three 
years.  In  Windover,  the  respectable  young  people 
do  not  flirt  or  intrigue  ;  breach  of  troth  is  almost  un- 
known among  them.  To  walk  with  a  girl  on  Sun- 
day afternoon,  and  to  kiss  her  Sunday  evening,  is 


104  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

to  marry  her,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Ben  Trawl 
spoke  in  the  imperious  tone  of  the  seafaring  people 
who  call  a  wife  "  my  woman,"  and  who  lie  on  the 
lounge  in  the  kitchen  while  she  brings  the  water 
from  the  well. 

"  You  come  here,  Jane,  and  sit  on  the  sofy  along 
side  of  me !  I  've  got  a  word  or  so  to  say  to  you." 

Jane  Granite  came.  She  was  frightened.  She 
sat  down  beside  her  lover,  and  timidly  surrendered 
the  work-worn  little  hand  which  he  seized  and 
crushed  with  cruel  violence  within  his  own. 

"  Mr.  Granite  was  n't  never  wholly  satisfied 
about  Ben,"  Mrs.  Granite  was  saying  to  the  minis- 
ter as  they  splashed  through  the  muddy  slush. 
"  His  father  's  Trawl  the  liquor  dealer,  down  to 
Angel  Alley,  opposite  our  place,  a  little  below.  But 
Jane  says  Ben  don't  touch  it;  and  he  don't.  I 
don't  know 's  I  've  any  call  to  come  between  ner 
and  Ben.  He  's  a  stiddy  fellow,  and  able  to  sup- 
port her,  —  and  he  's  that  fond  of  Jane  " 

"  He  seems  to  be,"  said  Bayard  musingly.  His 
thoughts  were  not  with  Mrs.  Granite.  He  hardly 
knew  what  she  had  said.  He  was  not  used  to  this 
petty,  parish  atmosphere.  It  came  hard  to  him. 
He  underestimated  the  value  of  these  wearisome 
trifles,  in  the  large  work  performed  by  little  people. 
Nothing  in  the  world  seemed  to  him  of  less  im- 
portance than  the  natural  history  of  Ben  Trawl. 

"  The  wind  is  east,"  he  said  abstractedly,  "  and 
there  's  a  very  heavy  sea  on." 

He  cast  at  the  harbor  and  the  sky  the  anxious 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  105 

look  habitual  with  the  people  of  Windover ;  the 
stranger  had  already  acquired  it.  He  had  not 
been  a  month  in  the  fishing-town  before  he  noticed 
that  the  women  all  spoke  of  their  natural  foe  as 
"  the  terrible  sea." 

The  hall  which  the  new  people  had  leased  for 
their  services  and  entertainments  had  long  borne 
the  grim  name  of  Seraph's  Rest ;  having  been,  in 
fact,  for  years,  a  sailors'  dance-hall  of  the  darkest 
dye. 

"  Give  us,"  Bayard  had  said,  "  the  worst  spot  in 
the  worst  street  of  this  town.  We  will  make  it  the 
best,  or  we  will  own  ourselves  defeated  in  our 
work." 

In  such  streets,  and  in  such  places,  news  has 
wings.  There  is  no  spot  in  Windover  where 
rumor  is  run  down  so  soon  as  in  Angel  Alley. 

Bayard  had  talked  perhaps  half  an  hour,  when 
he  perceived  by  the  restlessness  in  his  crowded 
and  attentive  audience  that  something  had  hap- 
pened. He  read  on  for  a  moment :  — 

"  '  Are  you  dying  for  him  ?  '  she  whispered. 
'  And  his  wife  and  child.  Hush  !  Yes?  ' 

Then,  with  the  perfect  ease  which  he  always 
sought  to  cultivate  in  that  place  between  speaker 
and  hearer,  "  What  is  the  matter? "  he  asked  in  a 
conversational  tone. 

"  Sir,"  said  an  old  captain,  rising,  "  there  's  a 
vessel  gone  ashore  off  Ragged  Rock." 

Bayard  swept  his  book  and  manuscript  off  the 
desk. 


106  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  I  was  about  to  read  you,"  he  said,  "  how  a 
poor  fellow  with  a  wretched  life  behind  him  died 
a  noble  death.  Perhaps  we  can  do  something  -as 
grand  as  he  did.  Anyhow,  we  '11  try.  Come, 
boys!" 

He  thrust  himself  into  his  coat,  and  sprang 
down  among  the  audience. 

"  Come  on  !  You  know  the  way  better  than  I 
do !  If  there  's  anything  to  do,  we  '11  do  it.  Lead 
on,  boys  !  I  'm  with  you  !  " 

The  audience  poured  into  Angel  Alley,  with  the 
minister  in  their  midst.  Confusion  ran  riot  out- 
side. The  inmates  of  all  the  dens  on  the  street 
were  out.  Unnoticed,  they  jostled  decent  citizens 
who  had  flocked  as  near  as  possible  to  the  news- 
bearer.  Panting  and  white,  a  hatless  messenger 
from  the  lighthouse,  who  had  run  all  the  way  at 
the  keeper's  order  to  break  the  black  word  to  the 
town,  reiterated  all  he  knew :  "  It 's  the  Clara 
Em !  She  weighed  this  afternoon  under  full  can- 
vas—  and  she  's  struck  with  fourteen  men  aboard ! 
I  knew  I  could  n't  raise  nobody  at  the  old  Life- 
Saving  Station  "  — 

"  It 's  t'other  side  the  Point,  anyhow  !  "  cried  a 
voice  from  the  crowd. 

"  It 's  four  mile  away !  "  yelled  another. 

"  Good  heavens,  man  !  "  cried  Bayard.  "  You 
don't  propose  to  wait  for  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  's  there 's  anything  we  can  c7o,"  ob- 
served the  old  captain  deliberately.  "The  har- 
bor 's  chockf ul.  If  anybody  could  do  anything 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  107 

for  'em,  some  o'  them  coasters  —  but  ye  see  there 
can't  no  boat  live  off  Ragged  Rock  in  a  breeze  o' 
wind  like  this." 

"  How  far  off  is  this  wreck  ?  "  demanded  Bay- 
ard, inwardly  cursing  his  own  ignorance  of  nau- 
tical matters  and  of  the  region.  "  Can't  we  get  up 
some  carts  and  boats  and  ropes  —  and  ride  over 
there  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  matter  of  three  mile  an'  a  half,"  replied 
the  mate  of  a  collier,  "and  it's  comin'  on  thick. 
But  I  hev  known  cases  where  a  cart —  Now 
there  's  them  I-talians  with  their  barnana  carts." 

"  You  won't  get  no  fog  with  this  here  breeze," 
contended  a  very  ancient  skipper. 

"  What  '11  you  bet  ?  "  said  the  mate  of  the  col- 
lier. 

An  Italian  with  a  fruit  cart  was  pushed  forward 
by  the  crowd ;  an  express  cart  was  impressed ; 
ropes,  lanterns,  and  a  dory  appeared  from  no  one 
knew  where,  at  the  command  of  no  one  knew  who. 
Bayard  suggested  blankets  and  dry  clothes.  The 
proposal  seemed  to  cause  surprise,  but  these  sup- 
plies were  volunteered  from  somewhere. 

"  Pile  in,  boys!  "  cried  the  minister,  in  a  ringing 
voice.  He  sprang  into  one  of  the  carts,  and  it 
filled  in  a  moment.  One  of  the  horses  became 
frightened  at  the  hubbub  and  reared.  Men  swore 
and  women  shrieked.  In  the  momentary  delay, 
a  hand  reached  over  the  wheel,  and  plucked  at 
Bayard's  sleeve.  He  flashed  the  lantern  in  his 
hand,  and  saw  a  woman's  strained,  set  face.  It 


108  A    SINGULAR   LIFE. 

was  Job  Slip's  wife,  Mari,  with  the  little  boy  crying 
at  her  skirts. 

"  Sir,"  she  said  hoarsely,  "  if  it 's  the  Clara  Em, 
Ae  's  aboard  of  her  —  for  they  shipped  him  at  five 
o'clock,  though  they  see  the  storm  a-comin'  —  and 
him  as  drunk  as  death.  But  it 's  true  —  he  got  it 
at  Trawl's  —  I  see  'em  lift  him  acrost  the  wharf 
an'  sling  him  over  int'  the  dory." 

"  I  '11  do  my  best,"  said  Bayard  with  set  teeth. 
He  reached  over  the  wheel  as  the  horses  started, 
plunging,  and  wrung  the  hand  of  the  drunkard's 
wife.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  say  more. 
Such  a  vision  of  what  life  meant  to  such  a  woman 
swept  through  Angel  Alley  upon  the  wings  of  the 
gale,  that  he  felt  like  a  man  whose  eyes  have 
beheld  a  panorama  on  a  stage  in  hell. 

Many  people,  as  the  carts  rolled  through  the 
town,  followed  on  foot,  among  them  a  few  women 
whose  husbands,  or  lovers,  or  brothers  were 
known  to  be  aboard  the  Clara  Em. 

u  Here 's  an  old  woman  with  a  boy  aboard ! 
Seems  you  might  find  room  in  one  them  wagons 
for  her ! "  cried  a  young  voice.  It  was  the  girl 
known  to  Windover  only  by  the  name  of  Lena ; 
she  for  whom  the  "  terrible  sea  "  could  have  no 
horrors;  the  one  woman  of  them  from  whom  no 
betrothed  lover  could  sail  away ;  to  whom  no  hus- 
band should  return. 

"  She  's  right  about  that.  We  must  manage 
somehow!"  called  Bayard.  Strong  hands  leaned 
out  and  swept  the  old  woman  up  over  the  wheel, 
and  the  horses  galloped  on. 


A    SINGULAR   LIFE.  109 

There  was  neither  rain  nor  snow ;  but  the  storm, 
in  the  seaman's  sense  of  the  word,  was  approach- 
ing its  height.  The  wind  had  now  become  a  gale, 
and  blew  southeast.  The  sky  was  ominously 
black.  To  Bayard's  sensitive  and  excited  imagi- 
nation, as  he  looked  out  from  the  reeling  wagon, 
the  mouth  of  the  harbor  seemed  to  gape  and  grin ; 
the  lights  of  the  fleet,  furled  and  anchored  for 
dear  life,  lost  their  customary  pleasant  look,  and 
snapped  and  shone  like  teeth  in  the  throat  of  a 
monster. 

The  wagons  rolled  on  madly ;  the  horses,  lashed 
to  their  limit  of  speed,  leaped  down  Windover 
Point.  They  had  now  left  the  road,  and  were 
dashing  across  the  downs  which  stretched  a  mile 
farther  to  the  eastern  shore.  The  roughness  of  the 
route  had  become  appalling,  but  a  Cape  horse  is 
as  used  to  boulders  as  a  Cape  fisherman ;  neither 
wagon  overset,  though  both  rolled  like  foundering 
ships.  The  lanterns  cut  swathes  of  light  in  the 
blackness  which  bounding  wheels  and  racing  heels 
mowed  down  before  them. 

Walls  of  darkness  rose  ahead,  and  at  its  outer- 
most, uttermost  margin  roared  the  sea.  It  seemed 
to  Bayard  as  if  the  rescuing  party  were  plunging 
into  eternal  mystery. 

The  old  woman  whose  son  was  aboard  the  Clara 
Em  crouched  at  the  minister's  feet.  Both  sat  in 
the  dory,  which  filled  the  wagon,  and  which  was 
packed  with  passengers.  The  old  woman's  bare 
hands  were  clenched  together,  and  her  lips  shut 


110  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

like  iron  hinges.  Bayard  wondered  at  her  mas- 
sive silence.  It  was  something  primeval,  solemn, 
outside  of  his  experience.  The  women  of  the 
shore,  in  stress  like  hers,  would  weep,  would  sob, 
or  shriek.  But  to  the  women  of  the  sea  this 
anguish  was  as  old  as  life  itself  :  to  it  they  were 
born,  and  of  it  they  were  doomed  to  die ;  tl?ey 
bore  it  as  they  did  the  climate  of  the  freezing 
Cape. 

"That  there  saving  service  couldn't  ha'  done 
nothin'  agin'  a  wreck  on  Ragged  Rock  if  they 
wanted  to,"  observed  the  old  captain  (they  called 
him  Captain  Hap),  peering  from  the  wagon  to- 
wards the  harbor  shore.  "It's  jest's  I  told  ye; 
they're  too  fur  —  five  mile  across." 

"  But  why  is  there  no  station  nearer  ? "  de- 
manded Bayard  with  the  warmth  of  inexperience. 
"  Why  is  nothing  put  over  here  —  if  this  reef  is 
so  bad  —  where  it  is  needed  ?  " 

"  Wall,"  said  Captain  Hap,  with  deliberation, 
"  that  's  a  nateral  question  for  a  land-lubber. 
Every  seaman  knows  there  ain't  no  need  of  gettin' 
wrecked  on  that  there  reef.  It 's  as  plain  as  the 
beard  on  your  face.  Wind  over  Light  to  the 
west'ard,  Twin  Lights  to  the  east'ard,  —  a  fog 
bell,  and  a  bell-buoy,  and  a  whistlin'-buoy,  — 
Lord!  why,  everybody  knows  how  to  keep  off 
Ragged  Rock !  "  " 

"  Then  how  did  this  vessel  happen  to  strike  ?  " 
persisted  Bayard.  The  men  interchanged  glances, 
and  no  one  answered  him. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  Ill 

"  Hi  there  !  Look,  look !  I  see  her  !  I  see 
her  spars !  "  yelled  a  young  fellow  on  the  front 
seat  of  the  wagon.  "  It 's  her !  It 's  the  Clara 

Em !  .  .  .  Lord  A'mighty !  what  in  was 

they  thinkin'  of  ?  She  's  got  on  full  canvas !  See 
her !  see  her !  see  her !  See  her  lights !  It 's 
her,  and  she  's  bumpin'  on  the  reef!  " 

Cries  of  horror  ran  from  lip  to  lip.  The  driver 
lashed  his  horses  onward,  and  the  men  in  the 
wagons  flung  their  lanterns  to  and  fro  in  uncon- 
trollable excitement.  Some  leaped  over  the  wheels 
and  ran  shouting  against  the  gale. 

"  Clara  Em,  ahoy  !     Clara  Em,  aho — o— oy !  " 

But  the  old  woman  at  Bayard's  feet  sat  still. 
Her  lips  only  moved.  She  stared  straight  ahead. 

"  Is  she  praying  ?  or  freezing  ?  Perhaps  she 's 
out  of  her  mind,"  thought  Bayard. 

He  gently  pulled  her  blanket-shawl  closer  over 
her  bare  head,  and  wrapped  it  around  her  before 
he  sprang  from  the  wagon. 


VIII. 

THERE  was  but  little  depth  of  snow  upon  the 
downs  and  cliffs,  but  such  as  remained  served  to 
reflect  and  to  magnify  all  possible  sources  of  light. 
These  were  few  enough  and  sorely  needed.  The 
Windover  Light,  a  revolving  lantern  of  the  second 
power,  is  red  and  strong.  It  flashed  rapidly,  now 
blood-red  and  now  lamp-black.  Bayard  thought 
of  the  pillar  of  fire  and  cloud  that  led  the  ancient 
people.  There  should  have  been  by  rights  a 
moon ;  and  breaks  in  battalions  of  clouds,  at  rare 
intervals,  let  through  a  shimmer  paler  than  dark- 
ness, though  darker  than  light.  Such  a  reduction 
of  the  black  tone  of  the  night  had  mercifully  be- 
fallen, when  the  staggering  wagons  clattered  and 
stopped  upon  the  large,  oval  pebbles  of  the  beach. 

The  fog,  which  is  shy  of  a  gale,  especially  at 
that  season  of  the  year,  had  not  yet  come  in,  and 
the  vessel  could  be  clearly  seen.  She  lay  upon 
the  reef,  broadside  to  the  breakers;  she  did  not 
pitch,  but,  to  a  nautical  eye,  her  air  of  repose  was 
the  bad  thing  about  her.  She  was  plainly  held 
fast.  Her  red  port-light,  still  burning,  showed  as 
each  wave  went  down,  and  the  gray  outlines  of 
her  rigging  could  be  discerned.  Her  foremast  had 
broken  off  about  five  feet  from  the  deck,  and  the 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  113 

spar,  held  by  the  rigging,  was  ramming  the  sides 
of  the  vessel. 

The  astonishing  rumor  was  literally  true.  The 
Clara  Em  —  one  of  the  famous  fishermen  of  which 
Windover  was  too  proud  to  be  vain ;  the  Clara 
Em,  newly-built  and  nobly  furnished,  none  of 
your  old-time  schooners,  clumsy  of  hulk  and 
rotten  of  timbers,  but  the  fastest  runner  on  the 
coast,  the  stanchest  keel  that  cleft  the  harbor, 
fine  in  her  lines  as  a  yacht,  and  firm  in  her  beams 
as  an  ocean  steamer  —  the  Clara  Em,  fearing 
neither  gods  nor  men  nor  weather,  and  bound  for 
Georges'  on  a  three  weeks'  fresh-fishing  trip,  had 
deliberately  weighed  anchor  in  the  teeth  of  a 
March  southeaster,  and  had  flung  all  her  clean, 
green-white  sails  to  the  gale.  As  nearly  as  could 
be  made  out  from  the  shore,  she  had  every  stitch 
up,  and  not  a  reef  to  her  face,  and  she  lay  over 
against  the  rock  like  a  great  eagle  whose  wings 
were  broken.  Even  a  landsman  could  compre- 
hend the  nature  of  this  dare-devil  act ;  and  Bay- 
ard, running  to  lend  a  hand  to  slide  the  dory  from 
the  wagon,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  indignant 
horror. 

"  How  did  this  happen  ?     Were  they  mad  ?  " 

"  Full,"  replied  the  old  captain  laconically. 

"  Yes,  I  see  she  's  under  full  sail.  But  why  ?  " 
he  persisted  innocently. 

The  old  captain,  with  a  curious  expression, 
flashed  a  lantern  in  the  young  minister's  face,  but 
made  no  reply. 

Cries  could  now  be  heard  from  the  vessel ;  for 


114  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

the  wind,  being  dead  off,  bore  sounds  from  sea  to 
shore  which  could  by  no  means  travel  from  shore 
to  sea.  Eagged  Rock  was  a  rough  spot  in  the 
kindest  weather;  and  in  that  gale,  and  with  the 
wind  in  that  direction,  the  roar  and  power  of  the 
surf  were  great.  But  it  should  be  remembered 
that  the  blow  had  not  been  of  long  duration; 
hence  the  sea  was  not  what  it  would  be  in  a  few 
hours  if  the  gale  should  hold.  In  this  fact  lay  the 
only  possible  chance  of  extending  rescue  in  any 
form  to  the  shipwrecked  crew. 

"  Clara  Em !  Aho — oy — oy !  "  yelled  a  dozen 
voices.  But  the  united  throats  of  all  Windover 
could  not  have  made  themselves  articulate  to  the 
straining  ears  upon  the  schooner. 

"  Where  's  yer  crew  ?  Show  up,  there  !  Can't 
ye  do  nothin1  for  yerselves  ?  Where  's  yer  dories  ? 
Hey?  What?  Clara  Em  !  Aho— oy— oy  !  " 

"  They  're  deef  as  the  two  years'  drownded," 
said  the  old  captain.  "An'  they  ain't  two  hun- 
dred feet  from  shore." 

"  Why,  ther ,  surely  we  can  save  them  !  "  cried 
Bayard  joyfully.  But  no  man  assented  to  the 
cheerful  words. 

The  dory,  a  strong  specimen  of  its  kind,  was 
now  out  of  the  wagon,  and  a  score  of  arms  dragged 
it  over  the  pebbles.  The  surf  dashed  far  up  the 
beach,  splashing  men,  boat,  wagon,  horses. 
Against  the  cliff  the  spray  rose  a  hundred  feet, 
hissing,  into  the  air.  The  old  captain  eyed  the 
sea  and  measured  the  incoming  rollers  with  his 
deep-set  eye. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  115 

"Ye  cayn't  do  it,"  he  pronounced.  "There 
ain't  a  dory  in  Windover  can  live  in  that "  —  he 
pointed  his  gaunt  arm  at  the  breakers. 

"  Anyhow,  we  '11  try !  "  rang  out  a  strong  voice. 
Cries  from  the  wreck  arose  again.  Some  of  the 
younger  men  pushed  the  dory  off.  Bayard  sprang 
to  join  them. 

"  I  can  row !  "  he  cried  with  boyish  eagerness  ; 
"  I  was  stroke  at  Harvard !  " 

"This  ain't  Charles  River,"  replied  one  of  the 
men  ;  "  better  stand  back,  Parson." 

They  kindly  withstood  him,  and  leaped  in  with- 
out him,  four  of  them,  seamen  born  and  bred. 
They  ran  the  dory  out  into  the  surf.  He  held  his 
lantern  high  to  light  them.  In  their  wet  oil-skins 
their  rough,  wild  outlines  looked  like  divers,  or 
like  myths  of  the  deep.  They  leaped  in  and 
seized  the  oars  with  one  of  the  wild  cries  of  the 
sailor  who  goes  to  his  duty,  his  dinner,  or  his 
death,  by  the  rhythm  of  a  song  or  the  thrill  of  a 
shout.  The  dory  rose  on  a  tremendous  comber, 
trembled,  turned,  whirled,  and  sank  from  sight. 
Then  came  yells,  and  a  crash. 

"There!"  howled  Captain  Hap,  stamping  his 
foot,  "  I  told  ye  so  !  " 

"  She 's  over !  " 

"  She 's  busted  !  " 

"  She  's  smashed  to  kindlin'  wood  !  " 

"  Here  they  be !  Here  they  come  !  Haul  'em 
in!" 

The  others  ran  out  into  the  surf  and  helped  the 


116  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

brave  fellows,  soaked  and  discomfited,  up  the 
beach.  They  were  badly  bruised,  and  one  of  them 
was  bleeding. 

The  pedestrians  from  the  town  had  now  come 
up ;  groups  of  men,  and  the  few  women ;  and  a 
useless  crowd  stood  staring  at  the  vessel.  A  big 
third  wave  rolled  over  and  smashed  the  port 
light 

"  It 's  been  going  on  all  these  ages,"  thought 
Bayard,  — "  the  helpless  shore  against  the  al- 
mighty sea." 

"  Only  two  hundred  feet  away  !  "  he  cried ;  "  I 
can't  see  why  something  can't  be  done !  I  say, 
something  shall!  —  Where  are  your  ropes? 
Where  are  your  wits?  Where  is  all  your  edu- 
cation to  this  kind  of  thing?  Are  you  going  to 
let  them  drown  before  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  There  ain't  no  need  of  goin'  so  far 's  that,*' 
said  the  old  captain  with  the  aggravating  serenity 
of  his  class.  "  If  she  holds  till  it  ebbs  they  can 
clomber  ashore,  every  man- jack  of  'em.  Ragged 
Rock  ain't  an  island  except  at  flood.  It 's  a  long, 
pinted  tongue  o'  rock  runnin'  along,  —  so.  You 
don't  onderstand  it,  Parson.  Why,  they  could 
eeny  most  walk  ashore,  come  mornin',  if  she 
holds." 

"  It 's  a  good  pull  from  now  till  sun-up,"  ob- 
jected a  fisherman.  "  And  it 's  the  question  if  she 
don't  break  up." 

"  Anyhow,  I  'm  going  to  try,"  insisted  Bayard. 
A  rope  ran  out  through  his  hands,  —  shot  high 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  117 

into  the  air,  —  fell  into  the  wind,  and  dropped  into 
the  breakers.  It  had  carried  about  ten  feet.  For 
the  gale  had  taken  the  stout  cable  between  its 
teeth,  and  tossed  it,  as  a  dog  does  a  skein  of  silk5 
played  with  it,  shook  it  to  and  fro,  and  hurled  it 
away.  The  black  lips  of  the  clouds  closing  over 
the  moon,  seemed  to  open  and  grin  as  the  old 
captain  said :  — 

"  You  ken  keep  on  tryin'  long  's  you  hev  the 
inclination.  Mebbe  the  women-folks  will  feel 
better  for 't ;  but  you  cay — n't  do  it." 

"  Can't  get  a  rope  to  a  boat  two  hundred  feet 
away  ?  "  demanded  Bayard. 

"  Not  without  apparatus,  —  no,  sir !  Not  in  a 
blow  like  this  here."  The  old  seaman  raised  his 
voice  to  a  bellow  to  make  himself  audible  twelve 
feet  away.  "  Why,  it 's  reelly  quite  a  breeze  o' 
wind,"  he  said. 

"  Then  what  can  we  do  ? "  persisted  Bayard, 
facing  the  beach  in  great  agitation.  "  What  are 
we  here  for,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  We  ken  watch  for  'em  to  come  ashore,"  re- 
plied the  captain  grimly. 

Turning,  in  a  ferment  half  of  anger,  half  of 
horror,  to  the  younger  men,  Bayard  saw  that 
some  one  was  trying  to  start  a  bonfire.  Drift- 
wood had  been  collected  from  dry  spots  in  the 
rocks  —  or  had  a  bucket  of  coal-tar  been  brought 
by  some  thoughtful  hand?  And  in  a  little  cave 
at  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  a  woman,  upon  her  knees 
in  the  shallow  snow,  was  sheltering  a  tiny  blaze 


118  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

within  her  two  hands.  It  was  the  girl  Lena. 
She  wore  a  woolen  cap,  of  the  fashion  called  a 
Tarn  o'  Shanter,  and  a  coarse  fur  shoulder  cape. 
Her  rude  face  showed  suddenly  in  the  flaming 
light.  It  was  full  of  anxious  kindliness.  He 
heard  her  say :  — 

"  It  '11  hearten  'em  anyhow.  It  '11  show  'em 
they  ain't  deserted  of  God  and  men-folks  too." 

"  Where  's  my  old  lady  ?  "  added  the  girl,  look- 
ing about.  "I  want  to  get  her  up  to  this  fire» 
She  's  freezing  somewheres." 

"  Look  alive,  Lena !  Here  she  is !  "  called  one 
of  the  fishermen.  He  pointed  to  the  cliff  that 
hung  over  Ragged  Rock.  The  old  woman  stood 
on  the  summit  and  on  the  edge.  How  she  had 
climbed  there,  Heaven  knew ;  no  one  had  seen  or 
aided  her ;  she  stood,  bent  and  rigid,  with  her 
blanket  shawl  about  her  head.  Her  gray  hair 
blew  back  from  her  forehead  in  two  lean  locks. 
Black  against  the  darkness,  stone  carved  out  from 
stone,  immovable,  dumb,  a  statue  of  the  storm, 
she  stared  out  straight  before  her.  She  seemed  a 
spirit  of  the  wind  and  wet,  a  solemn  figure-head, 
an  anathema,  or  a  prayer ;  symbol  of  a  thousand 
watchers  frozen  on  a  thousand  shores: — woman 
as  the  sea  has  made  her. 

The  girl  had  clambered  up  the  cliff  like  a  cat, 
and  could  be  seen  putting  her  arms  around  the  old 
woman,  and  pleading  with  her.  Lena  did  indeed 
succeed  so  far  as  to  persuade  her  down  to  the  fire, 
where  she  chafed  the  poor  old  creature's  hands, 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  119 

and  held  to  her  shrunken  lips  a  bottle  of  Jamaica 
ginger  that  some  fisherman's  wife  had  brought. 
But  the  old  woman  refused. 

"  Keep  it  for  Johnny,"  she  said,  "  till  he  gets 
ashore*"  It  was  the  only  thing  she  had  been  heard 
to  say  that  night. 

She  pushed  the  ginger  away,  and  crawled  back 
to  her  solitary  station  on  the  cliff.  Some  one  said  ? 

"  Let  be !     Let  her  be  I " 

And  some  one  else  said  :  — 

"Whar's  the  use?" 

At  that  moment  a  voice  arose :  — 

"  There  's  the  cap'n !  There  's  Joe  Salt,  cap'n 
of  the  Clara  Em !  He 's  acrosst  the  bowsprit 
signalin' !  He  's  tryin'  to  communicate !  " 

"  We  have  n't  seen  another  living  figure  mov- 
ing across  that  vessel,"  said  Bayard,  whose  inex- 
perience was  as  much  perplexed  as  his  humanity 
was  distressed  and  thwarted  by  the  situation.  "  I 
see  one  man  —  on  the  bows  —  yes.  But  where  are 
the  rest  ?  You  don't  suppose  they  're  washed  over- 
board already? — Oh,  this  is  horrible!"  he  cried. 

He  was  overwhelmed  at  the  comparative,  almost 
indifferent  calmness  of  his  fellow-townsmen. 

The  light-keeper  and  the  old  captain  had  run 
out  upon  the  reef.  They  held  both  hands  to  their 
ears.  The  shouts  from  the  vessel  continued. 
Every  man  held  his  breath.  The  whirling  blast, 
like  the  cone  of  a  mighty  phonograph,  bore  a  faint 
articulation  from  the  wreck. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  the  young  minister.  "  He  says 
they  're  all  sunk !  " 


120  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

He  was  shocked  to  hear  a  laugh  issue  from  the 
lips  of  Captain  Hap,  and  to  see,  in  the  light  of  the 
fire,  something  like  a  smile  upon  the  keeper's  face, 

"  You  don't  understand,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  fish- 
ermen respectfully.  "  He  says  they  're  all  —  " 

"  May  as  well  out  with  it,  Bob,"  said  another 
"  The  parson  's  got  to  get  his  initiation  someways. 
Cap'n  Salt  says  they  're  drunk,  sir.  The  crew  of 
the  Clara  Em  is  all  drunk." 

At  this  moment  a  terrible  shriek  rang  above  the 
roar  of  the  storm.  It  came  from  the  old  woman 
on  the  top  of  the  cliff. 

Her  eyes  had  been  the  first,  but  they  were  not 
the  only  ones  now,  to  perceive  the  signs  of  arousing 
life  upon  the  wreck. 

A  second  man  was  seen  to  climb  across  the 
bows,  to  pause  for  an  instant,  and  then  to  plunge. 
He  went  out  of  sight  in  a  moment.  The  inrolling 
surf  glittered  in  the  blaze  of  the  bonfires  like  a  cat- 
aract of  flame.  The  swimmer  reappeared,  strug- 
gled, threw  up  his  arms  and  disappeared. 

"  I  have  stood  this  as  long  as  I  can,"  said  Bay- 
ard in  a  low,  firm  voice.  "  Give  me  a  rope  !  Tie 
it  around  me,  some  of  you,  and  hold  on  !  I  'm 
going  to  try  to  save  that  man." 

"  I  '11  go,  myself,"  said  one  of  the  fishermen 
slowly. 

46  Bob,"  replied  the  minister,  "  how  many  chil- 
dren have  you  ?  " 

if-  Eleven,  sir." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  then,"  said  Bayard.  "  Such 
things  are  for  lonely  men." 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  121 

"  Bring  the  rope  !  "  he  commanded.  "  Tie  it 
yourselves  —  you  know  how  —  in  one  of  your  sail- 
or's knots  ;  something  that  will  hold.  I  'm  a  good 
swimmer.  I  saved  a  man  once  on  a  yachting  tripc 
Quick,  there  !  Faster  !  " 

"  There  's  another  !  "  cried  the  light-keepert 
"  There  's  a  second  feller  jumped  overboard  — 
swimming  for  his  life  !  Look,  look,  look  !  He 's 
sunk  —  no  he  ain't,  he  ain't !  He  's  bearing  down 
against  the  rocks  —  My  God !  Look  at  him, 
look,  look,  look  !  " 

Busy  hands  were  at  the  rope  about  the  minister's 
waist ;  they  worked  slowly,  from  sheer  reluctance 
to  do  the  deed.  Bayard  stamped  the  beach  with 
divine  impatience.  His  head  whirled  with  such 
exaltation  that  he  scarcely  knew  who  touched  him ; 
he  made  out  to  perceive  that  Ben  Trawl  was  one 
of  the  men  who  offered  to  tie  the  bow-line  ;  he 
heard  the  old  captain  say,  shortly  :  — 

"  I  '11  do  it  myself  !  " 

He  thought  he  heard  little  Jane  Granite  cry 
out ;  and  that  she  begged  him  not  to  go,  "  for 
his  people's  sake,"  and  that  Ben  Trawl  roughly 
silenced  her.  Strangely,  the  words  that  he  had 
been  reading  —  what  ages  since  !  —  in  the  hall  in 
Angel  Alley  spun  through  his  mind. 

" '  Are  you  dying  for  him  ? '  she  whispered,, 
«  And  his  wife  and  child.  Hush.  Yes  ! '  " 

So !  This  is  the  "  terrible  sea  !  "  This  is  what 
drowning  means ;  this  mortal  chill,  this  crashing 


122  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

weight  upon  the  lungs,  the  heart,  this  fighting  for 
a  man's  breath,  —  this  asphyxia  —  this  conflict 
with  wind  and  water,  night  and  might  —  this  being 
hurled  out  into  chaos,  gaining  a  foot,  and  losing 
three  —  this  sight  of  something  human  yonder  hurt- 
ling towards  you  on  the  billow  which  bears  you 
back  from  it  —  this  struggling  on  again,  and 
sweeping  back,  and  battling  out ! 

Blessing  on  the  "  gentleman's  muscle,"  trained 
in  college  days  to  do  man's  work !  Thanks  to  the 
waters  of  old  Charles  River  and  of  merry  Newport 
for  their  unforgotten  lessons !  Thank  God  for 
that  wasted  liberal  education,  —  yes,  and  liberal 
recreation,  —  if  it  teach  the  arm,  and  fire  the 
nerve,  and  educate  the  soul  to  save  a  drunken 
sailor  now. 

But  save  ?  Can  human  power  save  that  sodden 
creature  —  only  wit  enough  left  in  him  to  keep 
afloat  and  drift,  dashing  inward  on  the  rocks  ?  He 
swirls  like  a  chip.  But  his  cry  is  the  mortal  cry  of 
flesh  and  blood. 

Bayard's  strangling  lips  move  :  — 

"  Now  Almighty  Father,  Maker  of  Heaven  and 
Earth  "  — 

There  were  mad  shouts  upon  the  beach.  A 
score  of  iron  hands  held  to  the  line ;  and  fifty  men 
said  to  their  souls :  "  That  is  a  hero's  deed." 
Some  one  flung  the  rest  of  the  pailful  of  tar  upon 
the  fire,  and  it  blazed  up.  The  swimmer  saw  the 
yellow  color  touch  the  comber  that  broke  above  his 
head.  The  rope  tightened  like  the  hand  of  death 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  123 

upon  his  chest.  Caught,  perhaps  ?  Ah,  there  !  It 
has  grazed  the  reef,  and  the  teeth  of  the  rock  are 
gnawing  at  it ;  so  a  mastiff  gnaws  at  the  tether  of 
his  chained  foe,  to  have  the  fight  out  unimpeded. 

"  If  it  cuts  through,!  am  gone,"  thought  Bayard. 
—  "  And  Jesus  Christ  Thy  Son,  our  Lord  and 
Saviour"  — 

"  Haul  in !  Haul  in,  I  say !  Quick !  Haul 
'em  in  for  life's  sake,  boys !  —  She  tautens  to  the 
weight  of  two.  The  parson  's  got  him  !  " 

The  old  captain  jumped  up  and  down  on  the 
pebbles  like  a  boy.  Wet  and  glittering,  through 
hands  of  steel,  the  line  sped  in. 

"  Does  she  hold  ?  Is  she  cut  ?  Haul  in,  haul 
in,  haul  in  !  " 

The  men  broke  into  one  of  their  sudden,  natural 
choruses,  moving  rhythmically  to  the  measure  of 
their  song :  — 

"  Pull  for  the  shore,  sailor, 
Pull  for  the  shore  !  " 

As  he  felt  his  feet  touch  bottom,  Bayard's  strength 
gave  way.  Men  ran  out  as  far  as  they  could 
stand  in  the  undertow,  and  seized  and  held  and 
dragged  —  some  the  rescuer,  some  the  rescued ; 
and  so  they  all  came  dripping  up  the  beach. 

The  rope  dropped  upon  the  pebbles  —  cut  to  a 
single  strand. 

Bayard  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  release 
his  rigid  clutch  from  the  shoulder  of  the  fisher- 
man, who  fell  in  a  shapeless  mass  at  his  preserver's 
feet.  The  light  of  the  tar  fire  flared  on  the  inan's 
bloated  face.  It  was  Job  Slip. 


124  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"Where's  the  other?"  asked  Bayard  faintly 
"  There  were  two." 

He  dimly  saw  through  streams  of  water,  that 
something  else  had  happened ;  that  men  were  run- 
ning over  the  rocks  and  collecting  in  a  cleft,  and 
stooping  down  to  look,  and  that  most  of  them 
turned  away  as  soon  as  they  had  looked. 

The  old  woman's  was  the  only  quiet  figure  of 
them  all.  She  had  not  left  her  place  upon  the 
cliff,  but  stood  bent  and  stiff,  staring  straight 
ahead.  He  thought  he  heard  a  girl's  voice  say :  — 

"Hush!  Don't  talk  so  loud.  She  doesn't 
know  —  it 's  Johnny  ;  and  he  's  been  battered  to 
jelly  on  the  rocks." 

"  Mr.  Bayard,  sir,"  said  Job,  who  had  crawled 
up  and  got  as  far  as  his  knees,  "  I  was  n't  wuth  it." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  a  candid  bystander  with  an 
oath. 

"  Then  be  worth  it ! "  said  Bayard  in  a  loud 
voice.  He  seemed  to  have  thrown  all  that  re- 
mained to  him  of  soul  and  body  into  those  four 
words ;  as  he  spoke  them,  he  lifted  his  dripping 
arms  high  above  his  head,  as  if  he  appealed  from 
the  drunkard  to  the  sky ;  then  he  sank. 

The  gentlest  hands  in  the  crowd  caught  him,  and 
the  kindest  hearts  on  the  coast  throbbed  when  the 
old  captain  called  :  — 

"Boys!  Stand  back!  Stir  up  the  fire !  Where's 
the  dry  blankets?  There's  plenty  to  'tend  to 
Johnny.  Dead  folks  can  bury  their  dead  folks. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  125 

Hurry  up  them  dry  clo'es  an'  that  there  Jamaiky 
ginger !  This  here 's  a  livin'  man.  Just  a  drop, 
sir  —  here.  I  '11  hold  ye  kinder  easy.  Can't  ? 
What  ?  —  Sho !  .  .  .  Boys,  the  parson 's  hurt." 

At  that  moment  a  sound  solemn  and  sinister 
reverberated  from  the  tower  of  the  Iighthouse0 
The  iron  lips  of  the  fog  bell  opened  and  spoke. 


IX. 

CAPTAIN  HAP  had  reached  the  years  when  a  trip 
to  the  Grand  Banks  is  hard  work,  dory  fishing  off 
the  coast  a  doubtful  pleasure,  and  even  yachting 
in  an  industrial  capacity  is  a  burden.  He  had  a 
quick  eye,  a  kind  heart,  a  soft  foot,  and  the  gentle 
touch  strangely  enough  sometimes  to  be  found  in 
hands  that  have  hauled  in  the  cod-line  and  the 
main-sheet  for  fifty  years.  In  short,  Captain  Hap 
made  an  excellent  nurse,  and  sometimes  served  his 
day  and  generation  in  that  capacity. 

Bayard  lay  on  the  straw  mattress  under  the 
photograph  of  Leonardo's  Christ,  and  thoughtfully 
watched  Captain  Hap.  It  was  the  first  day  that 
conversation  had  presented  itself  to  the  sick  man  in 
the  light  of  a  privilege ;  and  he  worked  up  to  the 
luxury  slowly  through  intervals  of  delicious  silence. 

"  Captain  Hap,  I  am  quite  well  now  —  as  you 
see.  I  must  speak  next  Sunday."  . 

"  Call  it  Sunday  arter,"  suggested  Captain  Hap. 

"  It  was  only  a  scratch  on  the  head  —  was  n't  it, 
Cap'n  ?  And  this  cold.  It  is  a  bad  cold." 

"  For  a  cold,  yes,  sir ;  quite  a  cold.  You  see,  it 
anchored  onto  your  lungs ;  there  air  folks  that 
call  such  colds  inflammation.  That  there  cut  on 
the  head  was  a  beautiful  cut,  sir;  it  healed  as 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  127 

healthy  as  a  collie  dog's,  or  a  year-old  baby's. 
We  '11  have  you  round,  now,  sir,  before  you  can 
sayCap'nHap!" 

"Cap'nHap?" 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  You  've  done  something  for  me  —  I  don't  know 
just  what;  whether  it's  my  life  that's  saved,  or 
only  a  big  doctor's  bill." 

"  Ask  Mrs.  Granite,  sir,  and  that  there  handy 
girl  of  hers  ;  we  're  all  in  it.  You  kept  the  whole 
crew  on  deck  for  a  few  days.  You  was  a  sick  man 
—  for  a  spell." 

"Captain,  I  am  a  well  man  now;  and  there's 
one  thing  I  will  know.  I  've  asked  you  before. 
I  've  asked  when  I  was  out  of  my  head,  and  I  've 
asked  when  I  was  in  it,  and  I  've  never  got  an 
answer  yet.  Now  I  'm  going  to  have  it." 

"  Be  you  ? "  said  Captain  Hap.  His  small, 
dark,  soft  eyes  twinkled  gently  ;  but  they  took  on 
lustre  of  metal  across  the  iris ;  as  if  a  spark  of  iron 
or  flint  had  hit  them. 

"  It  is  time,"  said  Bayard,  "  that  I  knew  all 
about  it." 

"  Meaning  "  —  began  the  captain  softly. 

"  Meaning  everything,"  said  Bayard  impatiently . 
"The  whole  story.  It's  the  best  thing  for  me, 
I  dream  about  it  so." 

"  Yes,  I  Ve  noticed  your  dreams  was  bad,"  re- 
plied the  nurse  soothingly. 

"  Captain,  where  's  the  Clara  Em  ?  " 

"To  the  bottom,"  responded  the  fisherman 
cheerfully. 


128  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"And  the  men?  The  crew?  Her  captain? 
Job  Slip  ?  How  many  were  drowned  ?  Out  with 
it,  Cap'n !  I  'm  not  very  easy  to  deceive,  when 
I  'm  in  my  senses.  You  may  as  well  tell  me 
everything." 

"  Mebbe  I  mought,"  observed  the  captain. 
"  Sometimes  it 's  the  best  way.  There  was  n't  but 
one  of  'em  drowned,  sir, — more  's  the  pity." 

Bayard  uttered  an  exclamation  of  shocked  re- 
buke and  indignation ;  but  the  old  captain  sat 
rocking  to  and  fro  in  Mrs.  Granite's  best  wooden 
rocking-chair,  with  the  placid  expression  of  those 
who  rest  from  their  labors,  and  are  not  afraid  that 
their  works  should  follow  them. 

"  Fellars  that  '11  take  a  new  fisherman  —  a  reg- 
ular dandy  like  that  —  and  smash  her  onto  Bagged 
Rock,  bein'  in  the  condition  those  f ellars  were,  ain't 
worth  savin' !  "  said  the  seaman  severely.  "  Your 
treasurer  here,  J.  B.  S.  Bond,  he  says  last  time  he 
come  to  see  you,  says  he :  '  The  whole  of  'em 
warn't  worth  our  minister ! ' ! 

"  I  must  speak  to  Mr.  Bond  about  that,"  said 
the  young  man  with  a  clerical  ring  in  his  voice. 
"  It  was  n't  a  proper  thing  for  him  to  say.  —  Who 
was  drowned,  Captain  Hap  ?  " 

"Only  Johnny,"  replied  the  captain  indiffer- 
ently. "  He  was  born  drunk,  Johnny  was :  his 
father  was  so  before  him ;  and  three  uncles.  He 
ain't  any  great  loss." 

"Did  you  see  Johnny's  mother,  Captain,  —  on 
the  cliff,  there,  —  that  night  ?  " 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  129 

"  I  did  n't  take  notice  of  her  particular,"  replied 
Captain  Hap  comfortably.  "  I  see  several  women 
round.  There 's  usually  a  good  many  on  the 
rocks,  such  times." 

"Well,  you've  got  me,"  said  Bayard  with  a 
smiling  sigh.  "  I  'm  a  little  too  weak  to  play  the 
parson  on  you  yet,  you  Christian  heathen  —  you 
stony-hearted  minister  of  mercy  !  " 

"  Sho  !  "  said  the  captain.  "  'T  ain't  fair  to  call 
names.  I  can't  hit  back  ;  on  a  sick  man." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Bayard,  sinking  back  on  his 
thin,  small  pillows.  "  Just  go  ahead  and  tell  me 
the  whole  business,  then.  Where  is  Job  Slip?" 

"  Off  haddockin'." 

"Sober?" 

"  So  far.  He  's  come  over  here  half  a  dozen 
times,  but  the  doctor  would  n't  let  him  up  to  see 
you.  His  wife  come,  too.  That  woman,  she  'd  kiss 
the  popples l  underneath  your  rubber-boots." 

"  Where  's  Johnny's  mother?  " 

"  They  took  her  to  the  Widders'  Home  yester- 
day. Some  of  'em  screeches  all  the  way  over. 
Folks  say  she  never  said  nothing." 

"  What  became  of  all  those  men — the  crew  and 
captain  ?  " 

"  Why,  they  waited  till  ebb,  just  as  I  told  you. 
Then  they  come  ashore,  the  whole  twelve  on  'em. 
The  crew  they  come  first,  and  Cap'n  Salt  —  that 's 
Joe  Salt  —  he  follered  after.  There  was  some 
folks  waited  round  to  see  'em  off  —  but  it  come  up 

1  Windover  for  pebbles. 


130  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

dreadful  thick,  spite  of  the  breeze ;  so  thick  it  had 
stems  to  it.  You  could  n't  see  the  vessel,  not  a 
line  of  her,  and  't  was  kinder  cold  and  disagree'ble. 
So  most  the  folks  went  home.  But  they  got 
ashore,  every  man-jack  of  'em  alive." 

"  Thank  God !  "  breathed  the  sick  man. 

"  Well,"  said  the  captain,  "  that 's  a  matter  of 
opinion.  You  've  talked  enough,  sir." 

"  Just  one  more,  Cap'n  Hap  !  Just  this  !  This 
I  've  got  to  know.  What  was  it  —  exactly  — 
that  those  men  did  ?  How  did  they  come  to  be  in 
such  a  plight  ?  How  in  the  world  —  that  beautiful 
new  boat  —  and  an  intelligent  officer  at  the  helm, 
Captain  — how  on  earth  did  it  come  about?" 

"  The  Clara  Em  was  sot  to  sail,"  replied  Cap- 
tain Hap  calmly.  "That's  about  all.  Her 
owners  they  were  sot,  and  her  cap'n  he  was  sot. 
It  was  the  sotness  done  it.  They  'd  make  the  mar- 
ket first,  you  see,  if  they  got  the  start  —  and  it 's 
a  job  gettin'  your  crew  aboard,  you  know.  Any- 
thing to  get  your  crew.  Drunk  or  sober,  that  is  n't 
the  point.  Drunker  they  be,  the  easier  to  ship 
'em.  See  ?  Get  your  crew.  Get  'em  anyhow ! 
They  was  all  full,  every  mother's  son  of  'em. 
Cap'n  Joe,  he  was  the  only  sober  soul  aboard,  and 
that 's  the  truth,  and  he  knew  it  when  he  set  sail. 
Yes  —  oh,  yes.  The  storm  was  comin'.  He  knew 
it  was  breezin'  up.  —  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  So  he 
got  some  sober  men  off  the  wharves  to  help  him  at 
the  sheets,  and  he  put  up  every  stitch.  Yes,  sir ! 
Every  stitch  he  had!  And  out  he  sails  —  with 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  131 

thirteen  drunken  men  aboard  —  him  at  the  wheel, 
and  not  a  hand  to  help  him.  That 's  the  English 

on 't.  The  boat  was  d drunk,  beg  your  pardon, 

Parson  !  He  driv  right  out  the  harbor,  and  it  was 
a  sou'easter,  and  blew  quite  a  breeze  o'  wind,  and 
you  see  he  tacked,  and  set  in,  and  he  was  tackin' 
out,  and  it  had  breezed  up  consider'ble  more  9n  he 
expected.  So  he  drove  right  on  the  reef.  That 's 
about  it," 

"  But  why  did  n't  he  take  in  sail  ?  " 

"  How  was  he  goin'  to  do  it  with  that  crew  ? 
Why,  he  could  n't  leave  the  wheel  to  tie  a  reef- 
point." 

"  But  there  was  his  anchor." 

"  Did  you  ever  try  to  heave  one  of  them  big 
anchors  ?  It  takes  four  men." 

"  What  a  situation  !     Horrible  !  " 

"Wall,  yes;  it  was  inconvenient  —  him  at  the 
wheel,  and  a  dead  drunk  crew,  thirteen  of  'em,  be- 
low. Why,  they  was  too  drunk  to  know  whether 
they  drowned  or  not." 

"  Can  the  boat  be  raised  ?  Will  she  ever  be 
good  for  anything?  " 

"  Kindlin'  wood,"  remarked  the  captain  dryly. 

"  Captain  Hap,"  asked  Bayard  feebly,  "  do 
things  like  this  often  happen?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Is  n't  this  an  extreme  case  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  don't  happen  every  day." 

"  But  things  of  this  kind  —  do  they  occur  often  ? 
Do  you  know  of  other  cases  ?  " 


132  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Windover  don't  have  the  monopoly  of  'em  by 
no  means,"  mused  Captain  Hap.  "  There  was  the 
Daredevil  over  on  South  Shore.  She  was  launched 
about  a  year  ago.  She  went  on  a  trial  spin  one 
day,  and  everybody  aboard  was  pretty  jolly.  They 
put  all  their  canvas  up  to  show  her  off.  It  was  a 
nor'wester  that  day,  and  they  driv  her  right  be- 
fore the  wind.  She  jest  plunged  bows  down,  and 
driv  straight  to  the  bottom,  the  Daredevil  did. 
Some  said  it  was  he.r  name.  But,  Lord,  rum 
done  it." 

"What  do  people  say  —  how  do  they  take  it 
here  in  Windover,  this  case  of  the  Clara  Em  ? 
Were  n't  they  indignant  ?  " 

"  Wall,  the  insurance  folks  was  mad." 

"  No,  but  the  people  —  the  citizens  —  the  Chris- 
tian people  —  how  do  they  feel  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  're  used  to  it,"  said  Captain  Hap. 

Bayard  turned  wearily  on  his  hard  bed.  He  did 
not  answer.  He  looked  out  and  towards  the  sea. 
The  engraved  Guide  over  the  study-table  between 
the  little  windows  regarded  him.  St.  Michael  was 
fighting  with  his  dragon  still. 

"He  never  got  wounded,"  thought  the  sick 
man. 

"Captain,"  he  said  presently,  "these  rooms 
seem  to  be  full  of  —  pleasant  things.  Who  sent 
them  all?" 

"  Them  geraniums  and  other  greens  ?  Oh,  the 
ladies 'of  the  mission,  every  mother's  daughter  of 
'em,  married  and  single,  young  an'  old.  Jellies? 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  133 

Lord !  Yes.  Jellies  enough  to  stock  a  branch 
grocery.  What  there  is  in  the  female  mind,  come 
to  sickness,  that  takes  it  out  in  jellies"  —  mused 
the  captain. 

"  I  've  taken  solid  comfort  out  of  this  screen,'* 
said  Bayard  gratefully.  "I  did  suffer  with  the 
light  before.  Who  sent  that  ?  " 

"  That 's  Jane  Granite's  idee,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain. "  She  seems  to  be  a  clever  girl.  Took  an 
old  clo'es-horse  and  some  rolls  of  wall  paper 
they  had  in  the  house.  They  give  fifteen  cents  a 
roll  for  that  paper.  It 's  kinder  tasty,  don't  you 
think  ?  'Specially  that  cherubim  with  blue  wings 
settin'  on  a  basket  of  grapes." 

"  That  reminds  me.  I  see  —  some  Hamburg 
grapes,"  said  Bayard,  with  the  indifferent  air  of  a 
man  who  purposely  puts  his  vital  question  last. 
He  pointed  to  a  heaping  dish  of  hothouse  fruit 
and  other  delicacies  never  grown  in  Windover. 

The  captain  replied  that  those  come  from  the 
Boston  gentleman ;  they  'd  kept  coming  all  along. 
He  thought  she  said  there  was  a  card  to  'em  by 
the  name  of  — 

"Worcester?"  asked  the  sick  man  eagerly 

That  was  it.    Worcester. 

"  He  has  n't  been  here,  has  he  ?  The  gentleman 
has  n't  called  to  see  me  ?  " 

The  nurse  shook  his  head,  and  Bayard  turned 
his  own  away.  He  would  not  have  believed  that 
his  heart  would  have  leaped  like  that  at  such  a 
little  thing.  He  felt  like  a  sick  boy,  sore  and 


134  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

homesick  with  the  infinite  longing  for  the  love  of 
kin.  It  was  something  to  know  that  he  was  not 
utterly  forgotten.  He  asked  for  one  of  the  Boston 
pears,  and  ate  it  with  pathetic  eagerness. 

"  There  's  been  letters,"  said  the  captain ;  "  but 
the  doctor's  orders  are  agin  your  seeing  'em  this 
week.  There  's  quite  a  pile.  You  see,  its  bein'  in 
the  papers  let  folks  know." 

"  In  the  papers  !      What  in  the  papers  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  s'pose  ? "  asked  the  captain 
proudly.  "  A  fellar  don't  swim  out  in  the  under- 
tow off  Ragged  Rock  to  save  a  d fool  of  a 

drunken  fisherman  every  day." 

"  I  '11  be  split  and  salted  !  "  added  the  fisher- 
man-nurse, "  if  we  did  n't  have  to  have  a  watch- 
man here  three  nights  when  you  was  worst,  to 
keep  the  reporters  off  ye.  Thirteen  Windover 
fellars  volunteered  for  the  job,  and  they  would  n't 
none  of  'em  take  a  cent  for  it.  They  said  they  'd 
set  up  forty  nights  for  you." 

" For  me?"  whispered  the  sick  man.  His  eyes 
filled  for  the  first  time  since  the  Clara  Em  went 
ashore  on  Ragged  Rock.  Something  new  and 
valuable  seemed  to  have  entered  life  as  suddenly 
as  the  comfort  of  kin  and  the  support  of  friends, 
and  that  bright,  inspiriting  atmosphere,  which  one 
calls  the  world,  had  gone  from  him.  He  had  not 
expected  that  precious  thing  —  the  love  of  those 
for  whom  we  sacrifice  ourselves.  He  felt  the  first 
thrill  of  it  with  gratitude  touching  to  think  of, 
in  so  young  and  lovable  a  man,  with  life  and 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  135 

all  its  brilliant  and  beautiful   possibilities  before 
him. 

It  was  an  April  night,  and  sea  and  sky  were 
soft  in  Wind  over. 

A  stranger  stood  in  Angel  Alley  hesitating  at  a 
door,  which  bore  above  its  open  welcome  these 
seven  words :  — 

"  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  LOVE  OF  CHRIST." 

"  What  goes  on  here  ?  "  the  gentleman  asked  of 
a  bystander. 

"  Better  things  than  ever  went  on  here  before," 
was  the  reply.  "  They  've  got  a  man  up  there. 
He  ain't  no  dummy  in  a  minister's  choker." 

The  stranger  put  another  question. 

"  Well,"  came  the  cordial  answer,  "  he  has  sev- 
eral names  in  Angel  Alley :  fisherman's  friend  is 
one  of  the  most  poplar.  Some  calls  him  the 
gospel  cap'n.  There  's  those  that  prefers  jest  to 
say,  the  new  minister.  There  's  one  name  he 
don't  go  by  very  often,  and  that 's  the  Reverend 
Bayard." 

"  He  has  no  right  to  the  title,"  murmured  the 
stranger. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  interposed  the  other  quickly. 
The  stranger  made  no  reply. 

"Some  call  him  the  Christ's  Rest  man,"  pro- 
ceeded the  bystander  affably. 

"  That  is  a  singular  —  ah  —  remarkable  cogno- 
men. How  comes  that  ?  " 


136  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Why,  you  see,  the  old  name  for  this  place  was 
Seraph's  Eest  —  it  was  the  wust  hell  in  Angel 
Alley  —  see  ?  before  he  took  it  up  an'  sot  to 
pray  in'  in  it.  So  folks  got  it  kinder  mixed  with 
the  Love  of  Christ  up  on  that  sign  there.  Some 
calls  the  place  Christlove  for  short.  I  heerd  an 
I-talian  call  him  the  Christman  t'  other  day." 

The  stranger  took  off  his  hat  by  instinct,  it 
seemed  unconsciously;  glanced  at  the  inscription 
above  the  door,  and  passed  thoughtfully  up  the 
steep,  bare  stairs  into  the  hall  or  room  of  worship. 

The  service  was  already  in  progress,  for  the 
hour  was  late,  and  the  gentleman  observed  with 
an  air  of  surprise  that  the  place  was  filled.  He 
looked  about  for  a  comfortable  seat,  but  was 
forced  to  content  himself  with  standing-room  in 
the  extreme  rear  of  the  hall.  Crowds  overflowed 
the  wooden  settees,  brimmed  into  the  aisles,  and 
were  packed,  in  serried  rows  as  tight  as  codfish 
in  a  box,  against  the  wall.  The  simile  of  the 
cod  was  forced  upon  the  visitor's  mind  in  more 
senses  than  one.  A  strong  whiff  of  salt  fish  as- 
sailed him  on  every  side.  This  was  varied  by 
reminiscences  of  glue  factories,  taking  unmistak- 
able form.  An  expression  of  disgust  crossed  the 
stranger's  face  ;  'it  quickly  changed  into  that  ab- 
straction which  indicates  the  presence  of  moral 
emotion  too  great  for  attention  to  trifles. 

The  usual  New  England  religious  audience  was 
not  to  be  seen  in  the  Church  of  the  Love  of 
Christ  in  Angel  Alley.  The  unusual,  plainly, 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  137 

was.  The  wealth  and  what  the  "-Windover  Top- 
sail" called  the  society  of  Windover  were  sparsely 
represented  on  those  hard  settees.  The  clean, 
sober  faces  of  respectable  families  were  out  in 
good  force  ;  these  bore  the  earnest,  half -perplexed, 
wholly  pathetic  expression  of  uninfluential  citizens 
who  find  themselves  suddenly  important  to  and 
responsible  for  an  unpopular  movement ;  a  class 
of  people  who  do  not  get  into  fiction  or  history, 
and  who  deserve  a  quality  of  respect  and  sympathy 
which  they  do  not  receive  ;  the  kind  of  person  who 
sets  us  to  wondering  what  was  the  personal  view 
of  the  situation  dully  revolving  in  the  minds  of 
Peter  and  the  sons  of  Zebedee  when  they  put 
their  nets  to  dry  upon  the  shores  of  Galilee,  and 
tramped  up  and  down  Palestine  at  the  call  of  a 
stronger  and  diviner  mind,  wondering  what  it 
meant,  and  how  it  would  all  end. 

These  good  people,  not  quite  certain  whether 
their  own  reputations  were  injured  or  bettered  by 
the  fact,  sat  side  by  side  with  men  and  women  who 
are  not  known  to  the  pews  of  churches.  The 
homeless  were  there,  and  the  hopeless,  the  sinning, 
the  miserable,  the  disgraced,  the  neglected,  the 
"  rats  "  of  the  wharves,  and  the  outcasts  of  the 
dens. 

The  stranger  stood  packed  in,  elbow  to  elbow 
between  an  Italian  who  served  the  country  of  his 
adoption  upon  the  town  waterworks,  and  a  dark- 
browed  Portuguese  sailor.  American  fishermen, 
washed  and  shaven,  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  filled 


138  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

the  rear  seats.  Against  the  wall,  lines  of  rude,  red 
faces  crowded  like  cattle  at  a  spring ;  men  of  the 
sea  and  the  coast,  men  without  homes  or  charac- 
ters ;  that  uninteresting  and  dangerous  class  which 
we  dismiss  in  two  idle  words  as  the  "floating 
population."  Some  of  these  men  were  sober; 
some  were  not ;  others  were  hovering  midway  be- 
tween the  two  conditions  :  all  were  orderly,  and 
a  few  were  listening  with  evidences  of  emotion 
to  the  hymn,  in  which  by  far  the  greater  portion 
of  the  audience  joined.  A  girl  wearing  a  Tarn 
o'  Shanter  and  a  black  fur  cape,  and  singing  in  a 
fine,  untrained  contralto,  held  her  hymn-book  over 
the  settee  to  the  Italian. 

"  Come,  Tony  !  Pass  it  along !  "  she  whispered, 
"  I  can  get  on  without  it.  Make  'em  pile  in  and 
sing  along  the  wall,  there !  " 

With  rude  and  swelling  cadence  the  fishermen 
sang :  — 

"  I  need  Thee  every  hour, 
Most  gracious  Lord." 

Their  voices  and  their  hearts  rose  high  on  one  of 
those  plaintive  popular  melodies  of  which  music 
need  never  be  ashamed  :  — 

"  I  need  Thee,  oh,  I  need  Thee, 

Every  hour  I  need  Thee ; 
Oh,  bless  me  now,  my  Saviour  "... 

The  stranger,  who  had  the  appearance  of  a  re- 
ligious man,  joined  in  the  chorus  heartily;  he 
shared  the  book  which  the  girl  had  given  to  the 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  139 

Italian,  who  came  in  a  bar  too  late,  and  closed  the 
stanza  on  a  shrill  solo,  — 

"  I  co  —  home  to  thee." 

This  little  accident  excited  a  trifling  smile  ;  but 
it  faded  immediately,  for  the  preacher  had  arisen. 
His  appearance  was  greeted  with  a  respect  which 
surprised  the  stranger.  The  audience  at  once 
became  grave  even  to  reverence;  the  Italian 
cuffed  a  drunken  Portuguese  who  was  under  the 
impression  that  responses  to  the  service  were 
expected  of  him  ;  the  girl  in  the  Tarn  o'  Shanter 
shook  a  woman  who  giggled  beside  her.  A  fisher- 
man whispered  loudly,  — 

"  Shut  up  there  !  The  parson  ain't  quite  tough 
yet.  Keep  it  quiet  for  him  !  Shut  up  there,  along 
the  wall !  " 

There  is  nothing  like  a  brave  deed  to  command 
the  respect  of  seafaring  men.  Emanuel  Bayard, 
when  he  plunged  into  the  undertow  after  Job  Slip's 
drunken,  drowning  body,  swam  straight  into  the 
heart  of  Windover.  A  rough  heart  that  is,  but  a 
warm  one,  none  warmer  on  the  freezing  coast,  and 
sea-going  Windo^r  had  turned  the  sunny  side  of 
its  nature,  and  taken  the  minister  in.  The  standards 
by  which  ignorant  men  judge  the  superior  classes 
—  their  superb  indifference  to  any  scale  of  values 
but  their  own  —  deserve  more  study  than  they 
receive. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Bayard,  who  was  only 
beginning  to  learn  to  understand  the  nature  of 


140  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

his  material,  that  he  had  become  in  three  weeks 
the  hero  of  the  wharves  and  the  docks,  the  ro 
mance  of  Angel  Alley,  the  admiring  gossip  of 
the  Banks  and  Georges',  the  pride  and  wonder 
of  the  Windover  fishermen.  Quite  unconscious  of 
this  "  sea-change,"  wrought  by  one  simple,  manly 
act  upon  his  popularity,  he  rose  to  address  the 
people.  His  heart  was  full  of  what  he  was  going 
to  say.  He  gave  one  glance  the  length  of  the 
hall.  He  saw  the  crowds  packed  by  the  door.  He 
saw  the  swaying  nets,  ornamented  with  globes 
and  shells  and  star-fish,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
fishing-town ;  these  decorations  softened  the  bare 
walls  of  the  audience-room.  He  saw  the  faces  of 
the  fishermen  lifting  themselves  to  him  and  blur- 
ring together  in  a  gentle  glow.  They  seemed  to 
him,  as  a  great  preacher  once  said  of  his  audience, 
like  the  face  "  of  one  impressive,  pleading  man," 
whose  life  hung  upon  his  words.  He  felt  as  if  he 
must  weigh  them  in  some  divine  scales  into  which 
no  dust  or  chaff  of  weakness  or  care  for  self  could 
fall. 

Something  of  this  high  consciousness  crept  into 
his  face.  He  stood  for  a  moment  silent ;  his  beau- 
tiful countenance,  thin  from  recent  suffering,  took 
on  the  look  by  which  a  man  represses  noble  tears0 

Suddenly,  before  he  had  spoken  a  word,  a  storm 
of  applause  burst  out  —  shook  the  room  from  wall 
to  wall  —  and  roared  like  breakers  under  his 
astonished  feet.  He  turned  pale  with  emotion, 
but  the  fishermen  thundered  on.  He  was  still  so 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  141 

weak  that  this  reception  almost  overcame  him,  and 
involuntarily  he  stretched  out  both  his  hands.  At 
the  gesture  the  noise  sank  instantly ;  and  silence, 
in  which  the  sigh  of  the  saddest  soul  in  the  room 
might  have  been  heard,  received  the  preacher. 

His  sensitive  face,  melted  and  quivering,  shone 
down  upon  them  tenderly.  Men  in  drunken 
brawls,  and  men  in  drowning  seas,  and  women  in 
terrible  temptation,  remembered  how  he  looked 
that  night  when  the  safe  and  the  virtuous  and  the 
comfortable  had  forgotten. 

The  stranger  back  by  the  door  put  his  hat 
before  his  face. 


THE  preacher  began  to  speak  with  a  quietness 
in  almost  startling  contrast  to  his  own  evident 
emotion,  and  to  the  excitement  in  the  audience 
room.  He  made  no  allusion  to  the  fact  that  this 
was  his  first  appearance  among  his  people  since 
the  wreck  of  the  Clara  Em,  and  the  all  but  mor- 
tal illness  which  had  followed  his  personal  share 
in  that  catastrophe.  Quite  in  his  usual  manner 
he  conducted  his  Sunday  evening  service  ;  a  simple 
religious  talk  varied  by  singing,  and  a  few  words 
from  the  New  Testament.  Bayard  never  read 
"chapters;"  a  phrase  sufficed,  a  narrative  or  a 
maxim :  sometimes  he  stopped  at  a  single  verse. 
The  moment  that  the  fishermen's  eyes  wandered, 
the  book  closed.  It  was  his  peculiarity  that  he 
never  allowed  the  Bible  to  bore  his  listeners ;  he 
trained  them  to  vahie  it  by  withholding  it  until 
they  did.)  It  was  long  remembered  of  him  among 
the  people  of  the  coast  that  he  made  use  of  public 
prayer  with  a  reserve  and  a  power  entirely  un- 
known to  the  pulpits  and  the  vestries.  The 
ecclesiastical  "  long  prayer  "  was  never  heard  in 
Angel  Alley.  Bayard's  prayers  were  brief,  and 
few.  He  prayed  audibly  before  his  people  only 
when  he  could  not  help  it.  It  seemed  sometimes 
as  if  his  heart  broke  in  the  act. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  143 

On  this  evening,  no  prayer  had  as  yet  passed 
his  lips ;  the  stranger,  with  a  slight  frown,  noticed 
this  fact.  But  now,  the  preacher  brushed  aside 
his  notes,  arid,  clearing  the  desk,  crossed  his  hands 
upon  it,  and  leaned  forward  with  a  marked  change 
of  manner.  Suddenly,  without  a  hint  of  his  pur- 
pose, the  young  minister's  gentle  voice  rose  into  the 
tones  of  solemn  arraignment. 

"  I  came  here,"  he  said,  "  a  stranger  to  this  town 
and  to  its  customs.  It  has  taken  me  all  this  while 
to  learn  what  your  virtues  and  your  vices  are.  I 
have  dealt  with  you  gently,  preaching  comfortable 
truths  as  I  have  been  expected  to  preach  them.  I 
have  worked  in  ignorance.  I  have  spoken  soft 
words.  Now  I  speak  them  no  more!  Your  sin 
and  your  shame  have  entered  like  iron  into  my 
soul.  People  of  Windover !  I  accuse  you  in  the 
name  of  Christ,  whose  minister  I  am !  " 

The  expression  of  affectionate  reverence  with 
which  his  audience  had  listened  to  Bayard  up  to 
this  moment  now  changed  into  a  surprise  that  re- 
sembled fear.  Before  he  had  spoken  ten  words 
more,  it  became  evident  that  the  young  preacher 
was  directing  the  full  force  of  his  conscience  and 
his  intelligence  to  a  calm  and  deliberate  attack 
upon  the  liquor  habit  and  the  liquor  traffic  —  one 
of  the  last  of  the  subjects  (as  it  is  well  known) 
conceded  to  be  the  business  of  a  clergyman  to 
meddle  with  in  any  community,  and  the  very  last 
which  Windover  had  been  trained  to  hear  her- 
self held  to  account  for  by  her  clerical  teachers. 


144  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

At  the  hour  when  he  came  nearest  to  the  adoration 
of  those  who  adore  without  thought,  when  they 
saw  him  through  the  mist  of  romance,  when  the 
people,  carried  on  a  wave  of  hero-worship,  lay  for 
the  first  time  at  his  feet,  Bayard  for  the  first  time 
opened  fire  upon  their  favorite  sin. 

Shot  after  shot  poured  down  from  those  deli- 
cate, curving  lips.  Broadside  followed  broadside, 
and  still  the  fire  fell.  He  captured  for  them  the 
elusive  statistics  of  the  subject;  he  confronted 
them  with  its  appalling  facts ;  he  pelted  them  with 
incidents  such  as  the  soul  sickens  to  relate  or  to 
remember.  He  denied  them  the  weak  consolation 
of  condoning  in  themselves  a  moral  disease  too  well 
known  to  be  the  vice  of  the  land,  and  of  the  times. 
He  scored  them  with  rebuke  under  which  his  lead- 
ing men  grew  pale  with  alarm.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  unlike  the  conventional  temper- 
ance address,  yet  nothing  could  have  been  more 
simple,  manly,  reasonable,  and  fearless. 

"  For  every  prayer  that  goes  up  to  God  from 
this  room,"  he  said,  "  for  every  hymn,  for  every  sa- 
cred word  and  vow  of  purity,  for  every  longing  of 
a  man's  heart  to  live  a  noble  life,  there  open  fifty 
dens  of  shame  upon  this  street  to  blast  him.  We 
are  pouring  holy  oil  upon  a  sea  of  mud.  That  is 
not  good  religion,  and  it  is  not  good  sense.  We 
must  prove  our  right  to  represent  the  Christian 
religion  in  Angel  Alley.  We  must  close  its  dens, 
or  they  ought  to  close  our  lips.  I  am  ready  to 
try,"  hs  added  with  his  winning  simplicity,  "if 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  145 

you  are,  I  shall  need  your  help  and  your  advice, 
for  I  am  not  educated  in  these  matters  as  I  ought 
to  be.  I  was  not  taught  how  to  save  drunken  men 
in  the  schools  where  clergymen  are  trained.  I 
must  learn  now  —  we  must  learn  together  —  as 
best  we  can.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  people ! "  His  voice 
passed  from  the  tone  of  loving  entreaty  into  that  of 
prayer;  by  one  of  those  moving  transformations 
peculiar  to  himself,  wherein  those  who  heard  him 
scarce  could  tell  the  moment  when  he  ceased  to 
speak  to  men  and  began  to  talk  with  God. 

"  People  of  the  Church  of  the  Love  of  Christ ! 
Approach  God,  for  He  is  close  at  heart.  .  .  . 
Thou  great  God!  Holy,  Almighty,  Merciful!- 
Make  us  know  how  to  deal  with  sin,  in  our  own 
souls,  and  in  the  lives  of  others.  For  the'  sake 
of  Thy  Son  whose  Name  we  dare  to  bear.  Amen." 

As  the  words  of  this  outcry,  this  breath  of  the 
spirit,  rose  and  ceased,  the  silence  in  the  room  was 
something  so  profound  that  a  girl's  sigh  was  heard 
far  back  by  the  door. 

The  hush  was  stung  by  a  long,  low.,  sibilant 
sound ;  a  single  hiss  insulted  that  sacred  stillness. 
Then  a  man  purple  to  the  brows,  rose  and  went 
out.  It  was  old  Trawl,  whose  saloon  had  been  a 
landmark  in  Angel  Alley  for  fifty  years. 

The  stranger,  who  had  been  more  moved  than 
It  seemed  he  cared  to  show  by  what  he  had  heard 
and  seen,  passed  slowly  with  the  crowd  down  the 
long  stairs,  and  reached  the  outer  air.  As  the 
salt  wind  struck  in  his  face,  a  hand  was  laid  upo& 


146  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

his  shoulder.  The  young  minister,  looking  pale 
and  tired,  but  enviably  calm,  drew  the  visitor's 
hand  through  his  arm. 

"  I  saw  you,  Fenton,"  he  said  quietly,  "  when 
you  first  came  in.  You  '11  come  straight  to  my 
lodgings  with  me.  .  .  .  Won't  you?"  he  added 
wistfully,  fancying  that  Fenton  hesitated.  "  You 
can't  know  how  much  it  will  mean  to  me.  I 
have  n't  seen  anybody  —  why,  I  have  n't  seen  a 
fellow  since  I  came  to  Windover." 

"  You  must  lead  rather  an  isolated  life,  I  should 
think,"  observed  Fenton  with  some  embarrass- 
ment, as  the  two  stood  to  hail  the  electric  car  that 
ran  by  Mrs.  Granite's  humble  door. 

"  We  '11  talk  when  we  get  there,"  replied  Bayard, 
rather  shortly  for  him.  "  The  car  will  be  full  of 
people,"  he  added  apologetically.  "  One  lives  in 
a  glass  bell  here.  Besides,  I  'm  a  bit  tired." 

He  looked,  indeed,  exhausted,  as  the  electric  light 
smote  his  thin  face ;  his  eyes  glowed  like  fire  fed 
by  metal,  and  his  breath  came  short.  He  leaned 
his  head  back  against  the  car  window. 

"You  cough,  I  see,"  said  Fenton,  who  was  not 
an  expert  in  silence. 

"Do  I  ?  Perhaps.  I  had  n't  thought  of  it." 
He  said  nothing  more  until  they  had  reached  his 
lodgings.  Fenton  began  to  talk  about  the  wreck 
and  the  rescue.  He  said  the  usual  things  in  the 
usual  way,  offering,  perforce,  the  tribute  of  a  man 
to  a  manly  deed. 

Bayard  nodded  politely;  he  would  not  talk 
about  it. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  147 

Jane  Granite  opened  the  door  for  them.  She 
looked  at  the  minister  with  mute,  dog-like  misery 
in  her  young  eyes. 

"  You  look  dead  beat  out,  sir,"  she  said.  But 
Ben  Trawl  stood  scowling  in  the  door  of  the  sit= 
ting-room ;  he  had  not  chosen  to  go  to  the  service, 
nor  to  allow  her  to  go  without  him.  Jane  thought 
it  was  religious  experience  that  made  this  such  a 
disappointment  to  her. 

44  Ah,  Trawl,"  said  the  minister  heartily,  "I'm 
glad  to  see  you  here." 

He  did  not  say,  "  I  am  sorry  you  were  not  at 
church,"  as  Ben  Trawl  pugnaciously  expected. 

Bayard  led  his  guest  upstairs,  and  shut  and 
locked  the  study  door. 

"  There !  "  he  said  faintly.  "  Now,  George 
Fenton,  talk !  Tell  me  all  about  ito  You  can't 
think  how  I  am  going  to  enjoy  this !  I  wish  I 
had  an  easy-chair  for  you.  Will  this  rocker  do  ? 
If  you  don't  mind,  I  think  I  '11  just  lie  down  a 
minute." 

He  flung  himself  heavily  upon  the  old  carpet- 
covered  lounge.  Fenton  drew  up  the  wooden 
rocking-chair  to  the  cylinder  stove,  in  which  a  low 
fire  glimmered,  and  put  his  feet  on  top  of  the  stove, 
after  the  manner  of  Cesarea  and  Galilee  Hall. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  in  his  own  comfortable  way, 
11 1  've  accepted  the  call." 

"I  supposed  you  would,"  replied  Bayard, 
"  when  I  heard  it  was  under  way.  I  am  glad  of 
it !  "  he  said  cordially.  "  The  First  Church  is  a 


148  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

fine  old  churcL  You  're  just  the  man  for  tteir , 
They  '11  ordain  you  as  easily  as  they  swallow  their 
native  chowders.  You  came  right  over  from 
their  evening  service  to  our  place  to-night?  You 
must  have  hurried." 

"  I  did,"  said  the  guest,  with  a  certain  air  of 
condescension.  "  I  wanted  to  hear  you,  you  know 
• —  once,  at  least." 

"  When  you  are  settled,  you  can't  come,  of 
course,"  observed  Bayard  quickly.  "  I  understand 
that." 

"  Well  —  you  see  —  I  shall  be  —  you  know  — 
in  a  very  delicate  position,  when  I  become  the 
pastor  of  that  church." 

Fenton's  natural  complacency  forsook  him  for 
the  instant,  and  something  like  embarrassment 
rested  upon  his  easy  face ;  he  showed  it  by  the  way 
he  handled  Mrs.  Granite's  poker. 

"  It 's  72°  in  this  room  already,"  suggested  Bay- 
ard, smiling.  "  Would  you  poke  that  fire  any 
more  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  come,  Fenton !  I  understand. 
Don't  bother  your  head  about  me,  or  how  I  may 
feel.  A  man  does  n't  choose  to  be  where  I  am,  to 
waste  life  in  considering  his  feeling's;  those  are 
the  least  important  items  in  his  natural  history* 
Just  stick  to  your  subject,  man.  It 's  you  I  want 
to  hear  about." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  guest,  warming  to  the 
theme  with  natural  enthusiasm,  "the  call  was 
unanimous.  Perfectly  so," 

"  That  must  be  delightful." 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  149 

"  Why,  so  it  is  —  it  is,  as  you  say.  delightful. 
And  the  salary  —  they  've  raised  the  salary  to  get 
me,  Bayard.  You  see  it  had  got  out  that  I  had 
refused  —  ah  —  hum  —  several  calls.  And  they  'd 
been  without  a  man  so  long,  I  fancy  they  're  tired 
of  it.  Anyhow,  I  'm  to  have  three  thousand 
dollars." 

"  That  is  delightful  too,"  said  Bayard  cordially. 
He  turned  over  on  his  old  lounge,  coughing,  and 
doubled  the  thin,  cretonne  pillow  under  his  head ; 
he  watched  his  class-mate  with  a  half-quizzical 
smile ;  his  eyes  and  brow  were  perfectly  serene. 

"I  shall  be  ordained  immediately,"  continued 
Fenton  eagerly,  "  and  bring  my  wife.  They  are 
refitting  the  parsonage.  I  went  in  last  night  to 
see  that  the  carpets  and  papers  and  all  that  were 
what  they  should  be.  I  am  going  to  be  married 
—  Bayard,  I  am  going  to  be  married  next  week." 

"  And  that  is  best  of  all,"  said  Bayard  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  She  is  really  a  lovely  girl,"  observed  Fenton, 
"  though  somewhat  limited  in  her  experience, 
I  Ve  known  her  all  my  life  —  where  I  came  from, 
in  the  western  part  of  the  State.  But  I  think 
these  gentle,  country  girls  make  the  best  min- 
isters' wives.  They  educate  up  to  the  position 
rapidly." 

Bayard  made  no  answer  to  this  scintillation ;  a 
spark  shot  over  his  soft  and  laughing  eyes;  but 
his,  lips  opened  only  to  say,  after  a  perceptible 
pause,  — 


150  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"Where  is  Tompkinton — he  of  the  long  legs 
and  the  army  cape  ?  " 

"  Settled  somewhere  near  you,  I  hear ;  over 
across  the  Cape.  He  has  a  fine  parish.  He  's  to 
have  two  thousand  —  that 's  doing  well  for  a  man 
of  his  stamp." 

"  I  don't  think  Tompkinton  is  the  kind  of  man 
to  think  much  about  the  salary,"  observed  Bayard 
gravely.  "  He  struck  me  as  the  other  sort  of 
fellow.  What 's  become  of  Bent  ?  " 

"Graduates  this  summer,  I  suppose.  I  hear 
he's  called  to  Roxbury.  He  always  aimed  at  a 
Boston  parish.  He's  sure  to  boom." 

"And  that  brakeman  —  Holt?  He  who  ad- 
mired Huxley's  '  Descent  of  Man '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  slumming  in  New  York  city.  They 
say  he  is  really  very  useful.  He  has  some  sort  of 
mission  work,  there,  at  the  Five  Points.  I  'in  told 
he  makes  a  specialty  of  converted  burglars." 

"  I  have  n't  been  able  to  follow  any  of  the 
boys,"  said  Bayard,  coughing.  "  I  can't  very 
well  —  as  I  am  situated.  It  does  me  good  to  hear 
something  about  somebody.  Where  's  that  round 
fellow  —  Jaynes  ?  With  the  round  glasses  ?  I 
remember  he  always  ate  two  Baldwins,  two  en — 
tire  Baldwin  apples." 

"  Gone  West,  I  believe.  He 's  admirably 
adapted  to  the  West,"  replied  Fenton,  settling  his 
chair  in  his  old  comfortable  way. 

"  What  an  assorted  lot  we  were  !  "  said  Bayard 
dreamily.  "  And  what  a  medley  we  were  taught  I 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  151 

I  haven't  opened  one  of  my  note-books  since  I 
came  here." 

"  Oh,  in  your  work,"  said  Fenton,  "  you  don't 
need  to  read,  I  should  think." 

Bayard's  eyes  sought  his  library ;  rested  lov- 
ingly on  its  full  and  well-used  shelves ;  then 
turned  away  with  the  expression  of  one  who  says 
to  a  chosen  friend :  "  We  understand.  Why 
need  anything  be  said  ?  "  He  did  not  otherwise 
reply. 

"  Were  you  ever  ordained  over  your  present 
charge?"  asked  his  visitor  suddenly,  balancing 
the  poker  on  the  top  curl  of  the  iron  angel  that 
ornamented  the  cylinder  stove.  "How  did  you 
manage  it?  Did  any  of  the  —  regular  clergy  — 
recognize  the  affair  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  ordained,"  replied  Bayard,  smiling 
contentedly.  "  I  sought  nothing  of  the  kind.  But 
a  few  of  the  country  ministers  wished  us  God- 
speed. There  was  one  dear  old  man  —  he  was  my 
moderator  at  that  Council  —  he  came  over  and  put 
his  hands  on  my  head,  and  gave  me  the  blessing,," 

"  Oh  —  the  charge  to  the  pastor  ?  " 

"  We  did  n't  call  it  that.  We  did  not  steal 
any  of  the  old  phrases.  He  prayed  and  blessed 
me,  that  was  all.  He  is  a  sincere,  good  man,  and 
he  made  something  impressive  out  of  it,  my  people 
said.  At  all  events  they  were  satisfied.  We 
have  to  do  things  in  our  own  way,  you  know, 
We  are  experimenting,  of  course." 

"I  should  say  that  was  a  pretty  serious  experi< 


152  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

ment  you  inaugurated  to-night  in  your  service. 
If  you  '11  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  should  call  it  very 
ill-advised." 

"  It  is  a  serious  experiment,"  replied  Bayard 
gravely. 

"Expect  to  succeed  in  it  ?  " 

"  God  knows." 

"  Bound  to  go  on  with  it  ?  " 

"  Till  I  succeed  or  fail." 

"  What  do  you  propose  ?  To  turn  temperance 
lecturer,  and  that  sort  of  thing?  I  suppose 
you'll  be  switching  off  your  religious  services 
into  prohibition  caucuses,  and  so  forth." 

"  I  propose  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  not  a 
politician.  I  am  a  preacher  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion." 

"  I  always  knew  you  were  eccentric,  of  course, 
Bayard.  Everybody  knows  that.  But  I  never 
expected  to  see  you  leading  such  a  singular  life. 
I  never  took  you  for  this  sort  of  fanatic.  It 
seems  so  —  common  for  a  man  of  your  taste  and 
culture,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  un- 
wise, from  every  point  of  view,  even  from  your 
own,  I  should  think.  I  don't  deny  that  your  work 
impressed  me,  what  I  saw  of  it  to-night.  Your 
gifts  tell  —  even  here.  It  is  a  pity  to  have  them 
misapplied.  Now,  what  was  your  motive  in  that 
outbreak  'to-night  ?  I  take  it,  it  was  the  first  time 
you  had  tackled  the  subject." 

"To  my  shame  —  yes.  It  was  the  first  timec 
JL  have  had  reasons  to  look  into  it,  lately  —  that  'a 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  153 

all.  You  see,  my  ignorance  on  the  subject  was 
colossal,  to  start  in.  We  were  not  taught  such 
things  in  the  Seminary.  Cesarea  does  as  well  as 
any  of  them  —  but  no  curriculum  recognizes  Job 
Slip.  t  Oh,  when  I  think  about  it !  —  Predestina- 
tion, foreordination,  sanctification,  election,  and 
botheration,  —  and  never  a  lesson  on  the  Chris- 
tian socialism  of  our  day,  not  a  lecture  to  tell 
us  how  to  save  a  poor,  lost  woman,  how  to  reform 
a  drunkard,  what  to  do  with  gamblers  and  pau- 
pers and  thieves,  and  worse,  how  to  apply  what 
we  believe  to  common  life  and  common  sense  — 
how  to  lift  miserable  creatures,  scrambling  up, 
and  falling  back  into  the  mud  as  fast  as  they  can 
scramble  —  people  of  no  religion,  no  morals,  no 
decency,  no  hope,  no  joy  —  who  never  see  the 
inside  of  a  church  " 

"They  ought  to,"  replied  Fenton  severely. 
"  That 's  their  fault,  not  ours.  And  all  seminaries 
have  a  course  on  Pastoral  Theology." 

"  I  visited  sixteen  of  the  dens  of  this  town  this 
last  week,"  replied  Bayard.  "I  took  a  policeman, 
and  went  through  the  whole  thing.  I  don't  blame 
them.  I  would  n't  go  to  church  if  I  were  they. 
I  shall  dream  about  what  I  saw  —  I  don't  know 
that  I  shall  ever  stop  dreaming  about  it.  It  is  too 
horrible  to  tell.  I  would  n't  even  speak  what  I 
saw  men  and  women  live.  The  old  sailors  who 
have  seen  a  good  many  ports,  call  it  a  hell  of  a 
town.  My  own  idea  is,  that  it  is  n't  a  particle 
worse  than  other  places  of  its  class.  I  fancy  it 's  a 


154  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

fair,  average  seaport  town.  Six  thousand  seamen 
sail  this  harbor  every  year.  I  can't  get  at  the 
number  of  dens  they  support ;  such  figures  are 
runaway  lunatics,  you  understand;  they  have  a 
genius  for  hiding ;  and  .  nobody  wants  to  find 
them.  But  put  it  low  —  call  it  two  hundred  —  in 
this  little  town.  If  it  isn't  the  business  of  a 
Christian  church  to  shut  them  —  whose  is  it  ?  If 
it  is  n't  the  business  of  religious  people  to  look 
after  these  fellows  —  whose  is  it  ?  I  say,  religious 
people  are  answerable  for  them,  and  for  their  vices ! 
I  The  best  people  are  responsible  for  the  worst,)  or 
there 's  no  meaning  in  the  New  Testament,  and 
no  sense  in  the  Christian  religion.  Oh,"  said 
Bayard,  with  a  sound  that  was  more  like  a  moan 
than  a  sigh,  "  if  Christ  could  come  into  Angel 
Alley — just  this  one  street!  If  He  could  take 
'this  .little  piece  of  a  worldful  of  human  woe  — 
modern  human  misery,  you  understand,  all  the 
new  forms  and  phases  that  Palestine  knew  nothing 
about  —  if  He  could  sweep  it  clean,  and  show  us 
how  to  do  it  now  !  Think,  Fenton,  think,  how  He 
would  go  to  work  —  what  that  would  be!  .  .  . 
sometimes  I  think  it  would  be  worth  dying  for." 

"  It  strikes  me  it  is  harder  to  guess  than  predes- 
tination, —  what  He  would  do  if  He  were  reincar- 
nated," replied  Fenton  gravely. 

"  It  had  not  struck  me  so,"  answered  Bayard 
gently,  "  but  there  may  be  something  in  that." 

"  Now,"  continued  Fenton,  "  take  yourself.  1 
fancy  you  believe —  Do  you  suppose  you  are 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  155 

doing  the  kind  of  thing  He  would  set  about,  if 
He  were  in  your  place  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  replied  Bayard  in  a  voice 
so  low  that  it  was  scarcely  articulate.  "  How  can  a 
man  know  ?  All  I  do  know  is,  that  I  try.  That 
is  what  —  and  that  is  all  —  I  try  to  do.  And  I 
shall  keep  on  trying,  till  I  die." 

He  spoke  with  a  solemnity  which  admitted  of 
no  light  response,  even  from  a  worldly  man. 
Fenton  was  not  that,  and  his  eyes  filled. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  silence,  "  you  are 
a  good  man,  Emanuel  Bayard.  God  go  with 
you." 

"  And  with  you,"  replied  Bayard,  holding  out 
his  hand.  "  Our  roads  lie  different  ways.  We 
shall  not  talk  like  this  again." 

"You  won't  mind  that?  You  won't  feel  it," 
said  Fenton  uncomfortably,  for  he  had  risen  to 
leave,  and  the  conversation  hung  heavily  on  his 
heart,  "  if  I  don't  run  across  your  way,  often  ? 
It  would  hardly  do,  you  see.  My  people  —  the 
church  —  the  circumstances  "  — 

He  brought  the  poker  down  hard  upon  the  cere- 
brum of  the  iron  angel,  who  resented  the  insult 
by  tumbling  over  on  the  funnel ;  thence,  with  a 
slam,  to  the  floor.  Fenton  picked  up  the  ornament 
with  a  red  face,  and  restored  it  to  its  place.  He 
felt,  as  a  man  sometimes  does,  more  rebuked  than 
irritated  by  the  inanimate  thing. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Bayard  gently.  It  was  all  he 
said.  He  still  held  out  his  hand.  His  classmate 


156  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

wrung  it,  and  passed,  with  bowed  head,  from  his 
presence. 

The  happy  weather  held  over  into  the  next  day  ; 
and  the  harbor  wore  her  celestial  smile.  The 
gentleness  of  summer  clothed  in  the  colors  of 
spring  rested  upon  the  wooded  coast  beyond  the 
long  cliff-outline,  upon  the  broken  scallops  of  the 
beaches,  and  the  moss-green  piers  of  the  docks, 
upon  the  waves  swelling  without  foam,  and  the 
patched  sails  of  the  anchored  fleet  unfurled  to 
dry.  The  water  still  held  the  blue  and  gray  tints 
that  betoken  cold  weather  too  recently  past  or  too 
soon  returning  to  be  forgotten.  But  the  wind  was 
south ;  and  the  saxifrage  was  in  bud  upon  the 
downs  in  the  clefts  of  the  broken  rocks  between 
the  boulders. 

Bayard  was  a  weak  and  weary  man  that  day,  — 
the  events  of  the  previous  evening  had  told  upon 
him  more  than  he  would  have  supposed  possible,  — 
and  he  gave  himself  a  luxury.  He  put  the  world 
and  the  evil  of  it  from  his  heart  and  brain,  and 
went  out  on  Windover  Point,  to  sun  himself, 
alone  ;  crawling  along,  poor  fellow,  at  a  sad  pace, 
stopping  often  to  rest,  and  panting  as  he  pushed 
on.  He  had  been  an  athletic  lad,  a  vigorous, 
hearty  man ;  illness  and  its  subtle  train  of  physi- 
cal and  mental  consequences  spoke  in  the  voices  of 
strangers  to  him. 

"  They  will  pass  on,"  he  thought. 

Bayard  was  such  a  lovable,  cordial,  human 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  157 

that  the  isolation  of  his  life  in  Windover  had 
affected  him  more  than  it  might  have  done  a 
natural  recluse.  Solitude  is  the  final  test  of  char- 
acter as  well  as  of  nature. 

The  romance  of  consecration  has  its  glamour 
as  well  as  the  romance  of  love.  Bayard  had  felt 
his  way  into  this  beautiful  mist  with  a  stout,  good 
sense  which  is  rare  in  the  devotee,  and  which  was 
perhaps  his  most  remarkable  quality.  This  led 
him  to  accept  without  fruitless  resistance  a  lot 
which  was  pathetically  alien  to  him.  He  was  no 
gray-bearded  saint,  on  whose  leathern  tongue  joy 
had  turned  to  ashes ;  to  whom  renunciation  was 
the  last  throw  left  in  the  game  of  life.  He  was 
a  young  man,  ardent,  eager,  buoyant,  confiding  in 
hope  because  he  had  not  tested  it ;  believing  in 
happiness  because  he  had  not  known  it ;  full  of 
untried,  untamed  capacity  for  human  delight,  and 
with  the  instinct  (generations  old)  of  a  luxurious 
training  toward  human  ease.  He  had  cut  the 
silken  cords  between  himself  and  the  world  of  his 
old  habits,  ambitions,  and  friends  with  a  steady 
stroke;  he  had  smitten  the  soft  network  like  a 
man,  and  flung  it  from  him  like  a  spirit ;  but  there 
were  hours  when  he  felt  as  if  he  were  bleeding  to 
death,  inwardly,  from  sheer  desolation. 

"That  call  of  George  Fenton's  upset  me  last 
night,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he  sank  down  at  the  base 
of  a  big  boulder  in  the  warm  sand.  He  sometimes 
talked  to  the  sea ;  nothing  else  in  Windover  could 
understand  him;  he  was  acquiring  some  of  the 


158  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

habits  of  lonely  people  who  live  apart  from  theii 
own  class.  How  impossible  it  would  have  been  in 
Cambridge,  in  Boston,  or  in  Cesarea  to  be  caught 
talking  aloud !  /His  pale  face  flushed,  and  he 
drew  his  hat  over  it,  thanking  Heaven  that  rocks 
were  deaf  and  the  downs  were  dumb,  that  the  sun 
would  never  tell,  and  the  harbor  was  too  busy  to 
listen* }  He  had  lain  there  in  the  sand  for  some 
time,  as  motionless  as  a  mollusk  at  low  water. 

"  All  a  man  needs  is  a  little  common  rest,"  he 
thought.  The  April  sun  seemed  to  sink  into  his 
brain  and  heart  with  the  healing  touch  that  no- 
thing human  ever  gives.  He  pushed  his  hat  away 
from  his  face,  and  looked  up  gratefully,  as  if  he 
had  been  caressed. 

As  he  did  so,  he  heard  footsteps  upon  the  crisp, 
red-cupped  moss  that  surrounded  the  base  of  the 
boulder.  He  rose  instinctively,  and  confronted  a 
woman  —  a  lady.  She  had  been  walking  far  and 
fast,  and  had  glorious  color.  The  skirt  of  her 
purple  gown  was  splashed  with  little  sticks  and 
burrs  and  bits  of  moss;  her  hands  were  full  of 
saxifrage.  She  was  trying  in  the  rising  wind  to 
hold  a  sun-umbrella  over  her  head,  for  she  wore 
the  street  or  traveling  dress  of  the  town,  and  her 
little  bonnet  gave  her  as  much  protection  from  the 
sun  as  a  purple  butterfly  whose  wings  were  dashed 
with  gold. 

Oddly  enough,  he  recognized  the  costume  before 
he  did  the  wearer;  so  incredible  did  he  find  it 
that  she  should  stand  there  living,  glowing,  laugh- 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  159 

ing,  —  a  sumptuous  beauty,  stamped  against  the 
ascetic  sky  of  Windover. 

"Fow/"  he  cried. 

"Oh,  I  did  not  expect  —  I  did  not  think"  — 
she  stammered.  He  had  never  seen  Helen  Car^ 
ruth  disconcerted.  But  she  blushed  like  a  school^ 
girl  when  she  gave  him,  saxifrage  and  all,  her 
ungloved  hand. 


XL 


"  MOTHER  sent  me  !  —  I  came  down  for  her  and 
father !  "  began  Helen  Carruth  abruptly.  Then 
she  thought  how  that  sounded  —  as  if  she  need  be 
supposed  to  apologize  for  or  explain  the  circum- 
stance that  she  happened  to  find  one  of  her  father's 
old  students  sunning  himself  upon  a  given  portion 
of  the  New  England  coast ;  and  she  blushed  again. 
When  she  saw  the  sudden,  upward  motion  of  Bay- 
ard's heavy  eyelids,  she  could  have  set  her  pretty 
teeth  through  her  tongue,  for  vexation  at  her 
little  faux  pas.  From  sheer  embarrassment,  sbe 
laughed  it  off. 

"I  haven't  heard  anybody  laugh  like  that 
since  I  came  to  Windover,"  said  Bayard,  drawing 
a  long  breath.  "  Do  give  me  an  encore  !  " 

"  Now,  then,  you  are  laughing  at  me  I " 

"  Upon  the  word  of  a  poor  heretic  parson  —  no. 
You  can't  think  how  it  sounds.  It  sinks  in  —  like 
the  sun." 

"  But  I  don't  feel  like  laughing  any  more.  I  've 
got  all  over  it.  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  oblige  you." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  used  to  be  good-natured,  I 
thought  —  in  Cesarea,  ages  ago." 

"  You  are  enough  to  drive  the  laugh  out  of  a 
faun,"  said  the  young  lady  soberly.  "  Pray  sit 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  161 

down  again  on  your  sand  sofa.  I  did  not  know 
you  had  been  so  ill.  Put  on  your  hat,  Mr.  Bay- 
ard. Good  society  does  not  require  ghosts  to 
stand  bareheaded  at  the  seacoast  in  April." 

"  I  don't  move  in  good  society  any  longer.  1 
am  not  expected  to  know  anything  about  its  cus- 
toms. Sit  down  beside  me,  a  minute  —  and  I 
will.  No  —  stay.  Perhaps  you  will  take  cold  ? 
I  wish  I  had  some  wraps.  My  coat "  — 

"  When  /  take  your  coat  "  —  began  the 
healthy  girl.  He  had  already  flung  his  overcoat 
upon  the  dry,  warm  sand.  She  gave  it  back  to 
him.  Then  she  saw  the  color  start  into  his  pale 
face. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me !  "  she  said  quickly.  "  I  did 
not  mean  —  Mr.  Bayard,  I  never  was  ill  in  my 
life." 

"Nor  I,  either,  before  now,"  pleaded  Bayard 
rather  piteously. 

"  Who  called  it  the  « insolence  of  health '  ?  I  did 
not  mean  to  be  impertinent,  if  you  will  take  the 
trouble  to  believe  me.  I  fail  to  grasp  the  situa- 
tion, that 's  all.  I  am  simply  obtuse  —  blunt  — > 
blunt  as  a  clam." 

She  waved  her  sun-umbrella  dejectedly  towards 
the  beach  where  a  solitary  clam-digger,  a  bent, 
picturesque  old  man,  was  seeking  his  next  chow- 
der. 

"  The  amount  of  it  is,"  said  Miss  Carruth  more 
in  her  usual  manner,  "  that  I  was  taken  a  little 
by  surprise.  You  used  to  look  so  —  different. 


162  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

You  are  greatly  changed,  Mr.  Bayard.  Being  a 
heretic  does  not  agree  with  you." 

"  I  have  had  a  little  touch  of  something  they 
call  pneumonia  down  here,"  observed  Bayard 
carelessly.  "  I  've  been  out  only  a  few  days." 

She  made  no  answer  at  first ;  Bayard  was  look- 
ing at  the  clam-digger,  but  he  felt  that  she  was 
looking  at  him.  She  had  seated  herself  on  the 
sand  beside  him  ;  she  was  now  quite  her  usual 
self ;  her  momentary  embarrassment  had  disap- 
peared like  a  sail  around  the  Point  —  a  graceful, 
vanishing  thing  of  whose  motion  one  thinks  after- 
wards. He  did  not  suppose  that  she  was  there  to 
sympathize  with  him,  but  he  was  vaguely  aware 
of  a  certain  unbridged  gap  in  the  subject,  when 
she  unexpectedly  said,  — 

"  You  have  not  asked  me  what  I  came  to  Wind- 
over  for." 

"  Windover  does  not  belong  to  me,  Miss  Car- 
ruth  ;  nor  "  —  a  ray  of  disused  mischief  sprang  to 
his  eyes.  Did  he  start  to  say,  "  Nor  you  "  ?  He 
might  have  been  capable  of  it  as  far  back  as  Har- 
vard, or  even  in  junior  year  at  Cesarea,  That 
flash  of  human  nonsense  changed  his  appearance 
to  an  almost  startling  extent. 

"  Why  now,"  she  laughed,  "  I  think  I  could 
recognize  you  without  an  introduction." 

"  But  you  have  n't  told  me  why  you  did  come 
to  Windover." 

"  It  does  n't  signify.  You  exhibit  no  interest 
in  the  subject,  sir." 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE,  163 

"You  are  here,"  he  answered,  looking  at  her, 
"  That  fact  preoccupied  me." 

This  reply  was  without  precedent  in  her  experi- 
ence of  him ;  and  she  gave  no  sign,  whether  of 
pleasure  or  displeasure,  of  its  effect  upon  her* 
She  looked  straight  at  the  clam-digger,  who  was 
shouldering  his  basket  laboriously  upon  his  bent 
back,  making  a  sombre,  Millet  sketch  against  the 
cheerful,  afternoon  sky. 

"  I  came  down  to  engage  our  rooms,"  she  said 
lightly.  "  We  are  coming  here,  you  know,  this 
summer.  We  board  at  the  Mainsail.  I  had  to 
have  it  out  with  Mrs.  Salt  about  the  mosquito  bars. 
Mother  would  n't  come  last  year  because  the  mos- 
quito bars  had  holes,  and  let  in  hornets  and  a 
mouse.  You  understand,"  she  added,  with  some- 
thing of  unnecessary  emphasis,  "  we  always  come 
here  summers." 

44 1  understand  nothing  at  all !  "  said  Bayard 
breathlessly.  44  You  were  not  here  last  summer, 
when  I  was  candidating  in  the  First  Church." 

44  That,  I  tell  you,  was  on  account  of  the  hornets 
and  the  mouse ;  the  mouse  clinched  it ;  he  waked 
her  walking  up  her  sleeve  one  morning.  So  we 
went  to  Campo  Bello  the  year  after.  But  we 
always  come  to  Windover." 

44  For  instance,  how  many  seasons  constitute 
Always'?" 

44  Three.  This  will  be  four.  Father  likes  it 
above  everything.  So  did  mother  before  the 
mouse  epoch.  She  got  to  feeling  hornets  in  her 


164  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

shoes  whenever  she  put  them  on.  I  wonder  father 
never  told  you  we  always  come  to  Windover." 

"  The  Professor  had  other  things  in  his  mind 
when  he  talked  to  me,  —  second  probation,  and  the 
dangers  of  modern  German  exegesis." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Dear  papa !  Windover  is  n't 
a  doctrine." 

"  I  wonder  you  never  told  me  you  always  came 
to  Windover." 

"  Oh,  I  left  that  to  Father,"  replied  the  young 
lady  demurely.  "  I  did  come  near  it,  though,  once. 
Do  you  remember  that  evening  "  — 

"  Yes,"  he  interrupted ;  "  I  remember  that  even- 
ing." 

"  I  mean,  when  you  had  taken  me  up  the  Sem- 
inary walk  to  see  the  cross.  When  you  said 
good-by  that  night,  I  thought  I  'd  mention  it. 
But  I  changed  my  mind.  You  see,  you  had  n't 
had  your  call,  then.  I  thought  —  I  might  —  hurt 
your  feelings.  But  we  always  do  come  to  Wind- 
over We  are  coming  as  soon  as  Anniversary 
is  over.  We  have  the  Flying  Jib  to  ourselves 
—  that  little  green  cottage,  you  know,  on  the  rocks. 
What!  Never  heard  of  the  Flying  Jib?  You 
don't  know  the  summer  Windover,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Only  the  winter  Windover,  you  see." 

"  Nor  the  summer  people,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Only  the  winter  people." 

"  Father  's  hired  that  old  fish-house  for  a  study," 
continued  Helen  with  some  abruptness.  "He 
says  he  can't  stand  the  women  on  the  Mainsail 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  165 

piazzas ;  you  can  hear  them  over  at  the  Flying 
Jib  when  the  wind  sets  our  way ;  they  discuss  the 
desserts,  and  pick  each  other's  characters  to  pieces^ 
and  compare  Kensington  stitches,  and  neuralgiac 
Father  is  going  to  bring  down  his  article  on  c  The 
State  of  the  Unforgiven  after  Death '  —  There !  " 
she  said  suddenly,  "  that  Millet  sketch  is  walking 
into  father's  study  with  his  basket  on  his  back. 
The  State  of  the  Unforgiven  will  be  a  little  — 
clammy,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

Her  eyes  rippled  like  the  bed  of  a  brown  brook 
in  the  sun.  Bayard  laughed. 

"  The  dear  Professor !  "  he  said. 

"  If  father  were  n't  such  an  archangel  in  private 
life,  it  would  n't  be  so  funny,"  observed  Helen,  jab- 
bing the  point  of  her  purple-and-gold  changeable 
silk  sun-umbrella  into  the  sand ;  "  I  can't  see  what 
he  wants  the  unconverted  to  be  burned  up  for. 
Can  you?" 

"  The  State  of  the  Unforgiven  before  Death  is 
more  than  I  can  manage,"  replied  Bayard,  smiling ; 
"  I  have  my  hands  full." 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  Helen,  with  a  pretty* 
puzzled  knot  between  her  smooth  brows. 

"  Like  what  ?     I  like  this." 

He  looked  at  her ;  as  any  other  man  might  ~ 
like  those  students  who  used  to  come  so  often,  and 
who  suddenly  called  no  more.  Helen  had  never 
seen  that  expression  in  his  eyes.  She  dropped  her 
own.  She  dug  little  wells  in  the  fine,  white  sand 
with  her  sun-umbrella  before  she  said,  — 


166  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  I  have  to  get  the  six  o'clock  train  ;  you  know 
1  have  n't  come  to  stay,  yet." 

"  But  you  are  coming !  "  he  exclaimed  with  irre< 
pressible  joyousness. 

She  made  no  answer,  and  Bayard's  sensitive  color 
changed. 

"  Do  I  like  what  ?  "  he  repeated  in  a  different 
tone. 

"  Heresy  and  martyrdom,"  said  Helen  serenely. 

"  I  regret  nothing,  if  that  is  what  you  mean  ;  no 
matter  what  it  costs  ;  no  matter  how  it  ends  —  no, 
not  for  an  hour.  I  told  the  truth,  and  I  took  the 
consequences  ;  that  is  all.  How  can  a  man  regret 
standing  by  his  best  convictions?  " 

"He  might  regret  the  convictions,"  suggested 
Helen. 

"Might  he?  Perhaps.  Mine  are  so  much 
stronger  than  they  were  when  I  started  in,  that 
they  race  me  and  drag  me  like  winged  horses  in  a 
chariot  of  fire." 

His  eyes  took  on  their  dazzling  look ;  like  fine 
flash-lights  they  shot  forth  a  brilliance  as  burning 
as  it  was  brief ;  then  their  calm  and  color  returned 
to  them.  Helen  watched  the  transfiguration  touch 
and  pass  his  face  with  a  sense  of  something  so  like 
reverence  that  it  made  her  uncomfortable.  Like 
many  girls  trained  as  she  had  been,  she  had  small 
regard  for  the  priestly  office,  and  none  for  the 
priestly  assumptions.  The  recognition  of  a  spirit- 
ual superiority  which  she  felt  to  be  so  far  above 
her  that  in  the  nature  of  things  she  could  not 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  167 

understand  it,  gave  her  strong  nature  a  jar :  some- 
thing within  her,  hitherto  fixed  and  untroubled, 
shook  before  it. 

Bayard,  without  apparent  consciousness  of  the 
young  lady's  thoughts,  or  indeed  of  her  presence 
for  that  moment,  went  on  dreamily :  — 

"  I  was  a  theorizer,  a  dreamer,  a  theologic  ap- 
prentice, a  year  ago.  I  knew  no  more  of  real  life 
than  —  that  silver  sea-gull  making  for  the  light- 
house tower.  I  took  notes  about  sin  in  the  lecture- 
room.  Now  I  study  misery  and  shame  in  Angel 
Alley.  The  gap  between  them  is  as  wide  as  the 
stride  of  that  angel  in  Eevelation  —  do  you  re- 
member him?  —  who  stood  with  one  foot  upon  the 
land  and  one  upon  the  sea.  All  I  mind  is,  that  I 
have  so  much  more  to  learn  than  I  need  have  had 
—  everything,  in  fact.  If  I  had  been  taught,  if  I 
had  been  trained  —  if  it  had  not  all  come  with 
that  kind  of  shock  which  benumbs  a  man's  brain 
at  first.,  and  uses  up  his  vitality  so  much  faster 
than  he  can  afford  to  spare  it  —  but  I  have  no 
convictions  that  I  ought  to  be  talking  like  this !  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Helen  softly. 

"Oh,  to  what  end?"  asked  Bayard  wearily,, 
"That  ecclesiastical  system  which  brought  me 
where  I  am  can't  be  helped  by  one  man's  rebel- 
lion. It  's  going  to  take  a  generation  of  us0  But 
there  is  enough  that  I  can  help.  It  is  the  can-be's, 
not  the  can't-be's,  that  are  the  business  of  men 
like  me." 

"  I  saw  you  with  that  drunken  man  ;  he  had  his 


168  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

arms  about  you,"  said  Helen  with  charming  irrele- 
vance. Her  untroubled  brows  still  held  that  little 
knot,  half  of  perplexity,  half  of  annoyance.  It  be- 
came her,  for  she  looked  the  more  of  a  woman  for  it= 

"  Job  Slip  ?  Oh,  in  Boston  that  day ;  yes.  I 
got  him  home  to  his  wife  all  right  that  night.  He 
was  sober  after  that  for — for  quite  a  while.  I 
wish  you  had  seen  that  woman  !  "  he  said  earnestly  t 
"  Mari  is  the  most  miserable  —  and  the  most  grate- 
ful —  person  that  I  know.  I  never  knew  what  a 
woman  could  suffer  till  I  got  acquainted  with  that 
family.  They  have  a  dear  little  boy.  His  father 
used  to  beat  him  over  the  head  with  a  shovel. 
Joey  comes  over  to  see  me  sometimes,  and  goes  to 
sleep  on  my  lounge.  We  're  great  chums." 

"  You  do  like  it,"  said  Helen  slowly.  She  had 
raised  her  brown  eyes  while  he  was  speaking,  and 
watched  his  face  with  a  veiled  look.  "  Yes;  there  's 
no  doubt  about  it.  You  do." 

"  Would  n't  you  ?  "  asked  Bayard,  smiling. 

"No,  I  should  n't." 

She  shook  her  head  with  that  positiveness  so 
charming  in  an  attractive  woman,  and  so.  repellent 
in  an  ugly  one.  "  When  they  burn  you  at  the 
stake  you  '11  swallow  the  fire  and  enjoy  it.  You  '11 
say,  '  Forgive  them,  for  they  don't  mean  it,  poor 
things.'  I  should  say, '  Lord,  punish  them,  for  they 
ought  to  know  better.'  That 's  just  the  difference 
between  us.  Mother  must  be  right.  She  always 
says  I  am  not  spiritual." 

"I  don't  know  but  I  should  like  to  see  that 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  169 

little  boy, though,"  added  Helen  reluctantly;  "and 
Mari  —  if  she  had  on  a  clean  apron." 

"  She  does  n't  very  often.  But  it  might  happen. 
Why,  you  might  go  over  there  with  me  —  some- 
time —  this  summer,  and  see  them  ?  "  suggested 
Bayard  eagerly. 

"  So  you  lay  the  first  little  smoking  fagot,  do 
you  ?  —  For  me,  too  ?  " 

She  laughed. 

"  God  forbid !  "  said  Bayard  quickly.  Helen's 
voice  had  not  been  as  light  as  her  laugh ;  and  her 
bright  face  was  grave  when  he  turned  and  regarded 
it.  She  gave  back  his  gaze  without  evasion,  now. 
She  seemed  to  have  grown  indefinably  older  and 
gentler  since  she  had  sat  there  on  the  sand  beside 
him.  Her  eyes,  for  the  first  time,  now,  it  seemed, 
intentionally  studied  him.  She  took  in  the  least 
detail  of  his  changed  appearance :  the  shabby 
coat,  the  patch  on  his  boot,  his  linen  worn  and 
darned,  the  fading  color  of  his  hat.  She  remem- 
bered him  as  the  best-dressed  man  in  Cesarea 
Seminary ;  nothing  but  rude,  real  poverty  could 
have  so  changed  that  fashionable  and  easy  student 
into  this  country  parson,  rusting  and  mended  and 
out-of-the-mode,  and  conscious  of  it  to  the  last 
sense,  as  only  the  town-bred  man  of  luxurious 
antecedents  can  be  of  the  novel  deprivation  that 
might  have  been  another's  native  air. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  necessary  to  look  so 
pale,"  was  all  she  said.  "  I  should  think  you  'd 
tan  here  in  this  glare.  I  do.  See  1  " 


170  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

She  held  out  her  bare  hands,  and  doubled  them 
up,  putting  them  together  to  scrutinize  the  delicate 
backs  of  them  for  the  effect  of  an  hour's  Windover 
sun.  Her  dark  purple  gloves  and  the  saxifrage  lay 
in  her  lap.  Bayard  held  the  sun-umbrella  over 
her.  It  gave  him  a  curious  sense  of  event  to  per= 
form  this  little  courtesy ;  it  was  so  long  since  he 
had  been  among  ladies,  and  lived  like  other  gen- 
tlemen ;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  upon  a  journey 
in  strange  lands  and  were  coming  home  again.  A 
blossom  of  the  saxifrage  fell  to  the  hem  of  her  dress, 
and  over  upon  the  sand.  He  delicately  touched 
and  took  it,  saying  nothing. 

"  Does  Mr.  Hermon  Worcester  come  and  pour 
pitch  and  things  on  the  bonfire  ?  "  asked  Helen 
suddenly. 

"I  thought  you  knew,"  said  Bayard,  "my 
uncle  has  disinherited  me.  He  is  not  pleased  with 
what  I  have  done." 

"Ah!  I  did  not  know.  Doesn't  he  —  excuse 
me,  Mr.  Bayard.  It  is  not.my  business." 

"  He  writes  to  me,"  said  Bayard.  "  He  sent 
me  things  when  I  was  sick.  He  was  very  kind 
then.  We  have  not  quarreled  at  all.  But  it  is 
some  time  since  I  have  seen  him.  I  am  very  fond 
of  my  uncle.  He  is  an  old  man,  you  know.  He 
was  brought  up  so —  We  mustn't  blame  him. 
He  thinks  I  am  on  the  road  to  perdition.  He 
does  n't  come  to  Windover." 

"  I  see," "  said  Helen.  She  leaned  her  head 
back  against  the  boulder  and  looked  through  half- 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  171 

shut  lids  at  the  dashing  sea.  The  wind  was  ris- 
ing. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said  abruptly. 

"May  I  take  you  over  to  the  station?"  he 
asked  with  boyish  anxiety. 

"  Mr.  Salt  is  going  to  harness  old  Pepper,"  she 
answered.  Bayard  said  nothing.  He  remembered 
that  he  could  not  afford  to  drive  a  lady  to  the  sta- 
tion ;  he  could  not  offer  to  "  take  "  her  in  the  elec- 
tric conveyance  of  the  great  American  people.  He 
might  have  spent  at  least  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
more  beside  her.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
not  experienced  poverty  till  now.  /The  exquisite 
outline  of  his  lip  trembled  for  the  instant  with  that 
pathos  which  would  have  smitten  a  woman  to  the 
heart  if  she  had  loved  him.)  Helen  was  preoccu- 
pied with  her  saxifrage  and  her  purple  gloves. 
She  did  not,  to  all  appearance,  see  his  face  at  all, 
and  he  was  glad  of  it. 

He  arose  in  silence,  and  walked  beside  her  to 
the  beach  and  towards  the  town. 

"Mr.  Bayard,"  said  Helen,  with  her  pleasant 
unexpectedness,  "  I  owe  you  something." 

All  this  while  she  had  not  mentioned  the  wreck 
or  the  rescue ;  she  alone,  of  all  people  whom  he 
had  seen  since  he  came  out  of  his  sick-room,  had 
not  inquired,  nor  exclaimed,  nor  commended,  nor 
admired.  Something  in  her  manner  —  it  could 
hardly  be  said  what  —  reminded  him  now  of  this 
omission  ;  he  had  not  thought  of  it  before. 

"  I  owe  you  a  recognition,"  she  said. 


172  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  I  cancel  the  debt,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  You  cannot.  I  owe  you  the  recognition  —  of 
a  friend  —  for  that  brave  and  noble  deed  you  did. 
Accept  it,  sir !  " 

She  spread  out  her  hands  with  a  pretty  gesture,, 
as  if  she  gave  him  something ;  she  moved  her  head 
with  a  commanding  and  royal  turn,  as  if  her  gift 
had  value.  He  lifted  his  hat. 

"  I  could  have  done  no  less  then ;  but  I  might 
do  more  —  now." 

His  worn  face  had  lightened  delicately.  He 
looked  hopeful  and  happy. 

"  A  man  does  n't  put  himself  where  I  am,  to 
complain,"  he  added.  "  But  I  don't  suppose  you 
could  even  guess  how  solitary  my  position  is.  The 
right  thing  said  in  the  right  way  gives  me  more 
courage  than  —  people  who  say  it  can  possibly  un- 
derstand. I  have  so  few  friends  —  now.  If  you 
allow  me  to  count  you  among  them,  you  do  me  a  very 
womanly  kindness  ;  so  then  I  shall  owe  you  " 

"  I  cancel  the  debt !  "  she  interrupted,  laughing. 
44  Did  n't  Father  write  to  you  ?  "  she  hurried  on, 
"  when  you  were  so  ill  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  The  Professor's  note  was  the  first 
I  was  allowed  to  read.  He  said  all  sorts  of  things 
that  I  did  n't  deserve.  He  said  that  in  spite  of 
the  flaws  in  my  theology  I  had  done  honor  to  the 
old  Seminary." 

"  Really  ?  Father  will  wear  a  crown  and  a  harp 
for  that  concession.  Did  he  give  you  any  message 
from  me,  I  wonder  ?  " 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  173 

"  He  said  the  ladies  sent  their  regards." 

"Oh!     Was  that  all?" 

"That  was  all." 

"  It  was  not  quite  all,"  said  Helen,  after  a  mo- 
ment's rather  grave  reflection.  "  But  never  mindo 
Probably  Father  thought  the  exegesis  incorrect 
somewhere." 

"  Perhaps  he  objected  to  the  context  ?  "  asked 
Bayard  mischievously. 

"  More  likely  he  had  a  quarrel  in  the  Faculty 
on  his  mind  and  forgot  it." 

"If  you  had  written  it  yourself"  —  suggested 
Bayard  humbly.  "  But  of  course  you  had  other 
things  to  do." 

Helen  gave  him  an  inscrutable  look.  She  made 
no  reply.  They  passed  the  fish-house,  and  the 
old  clam-digger,  who  was  sitting  on  his  overturned 
basket  in  the  sun,  opening  clams  with  a  blunt 
knife,  and  singing  hoarsely :  — 

"  The  woman 's  ashore, 
The  child  's  at  the  door, 
The  man 's  at  the  wheel. 

"  Storm  on  the  track, 
Fog-  at  the  back, 
Death  at  the  keel. 

"  Yon,  mate,  or  me, 
Which  shall  it  be  ? 
God,  He  won't  tell. 
Drive  on  to !  " 

"  There  is  Mr.  Salt,"  said  Helen ;  for  the  two 
had  come  slowly  up  in  silence  to  the  old  gate, 


174  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

(fastened  with  a  rope  tied  in  a  sailor's  knot),  that 
gave  the  short  cut  across  the  meadow  to  the  Main- 
sail summer  hoteL 

"  He  is  watching  for  me.  How  sober  he  looks  ! 
Perhaps  something  dreadful  has  happened  to  Mrs. 
Salt.  Wait  a  minute.  Let  me  run  in !  " 

She  tossed  her  sun-umbrella,  gloves,  and  saxifrage 
in  a  heap  across  Bayard's  arm,  and  ran  like  a  girl 
or  a  collie  swaying  across  the  meadow  in  the  wind. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  walked  back,  flushed  and 
laughing. 

"  Pepper  can't  go !  "  she  cried.  "  He 's  got  the 
coliCo  He 's  swallowed  a  celluloid  collar.  Mr. 
Salt  says  he  thought  it  was  sugar.  I  must  go 
right  along  arid  catch  the  car." 

"  You  have  eight  minutes  yet,"  said  Bayard 
joyously,  "  and  I  can  go  too  !  " 

The  car  filled  up  rapidly  ;  they  chatted  of  little 
things,  or  sat  in  silence.  Jane  Granite  came  aboard 
as  they  passed  her  mother's  door.  Bayard  lifted 
his  hat  to  her  cordially;  she  was  at  the  further 
end  of  the  car ;  she  got  off  at  a  grocery  store,  to 
buy  prunes,  and  did  not  look  back.  She  had  only 
glanced  at  Helen  Carruth.  Bayard  did  not  notice 
when  Jane  left. 

The  train  came  in  and  went  out.  'Helen  stood 
on  the  platform  leaning  over  to  take  her  saxifrage  : 
a  royal  vision,  blurring  and  melting  in  purple  and 
gold  before  his  eyes.  " 

The  train  came  in'  and  went  out ;  her  laughing 
eyes  looked  back  from  the  frame  of  the  car  win- 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  175 

dow.  The  train  went  out.  He  turned  away  and 
went  slowly  home. 

Jane  had  not  returned,  and  Mrs.  Granite  was 
away.  The  house  was  deserted,  and  the  evening 
was  coming  on  cold.  He  climbed  the  steep  stairs 
wearily  to  his  rooms,  and  lighted  a  fire,  for  he 
coughed  a  good  deal.  He  had  to  go  down  into 
the  shed  and  bring  up  the  wood  and  coal.  He 
was  so  tired  when  this  was  done  that  he  flung  him- 
self upon  the  old  lounge.  He  looked  slowly  about 
his  dismal  rooms  :  at  the  top  curl  of  the  iron  angel 
on  the  ugly  stove ;  at  the  empty,  wooden  rocking- 
chair  with  the  bones ;  at  the  paper  screen,  where 
the  Cupid  on  the  basket  of  grapes  sat  forever  tast- 
ing and  never  eating  impossible  fruit ;  at  the  study- 
table,  where  the  subscription  list  for  his  quarter's 
salary  lay  across  the  manuscript  notes  of  his  last 
night's  sermon.  The  great  Saint  Michael  on 
the  wall  eyed  him  with  that  absence  of  curiosity 
which  belongs  to  remote  superiority.  Bayard  did 
not  return  the  gaze  of  the  picture.  /He  took  some- 
thing from  his  vest-pocket  and  looked  at  it  gently, 
twisting  it  about  in  his  thin  hands.  It  was  a  sprig 
of  saxifrage,  whose  white  blossom  was  hanging  its 
head  over  upon  the  dry,  succulent  stem.  Bayard 
got  up  suddenly,  and  put  the  flower  in  a  book  upon 
his  study-table.  | 

As  he  did  so,  a  short,  soft,  broken  sound  pat- 
tered up  the  stairs.  The  door  opened  without  the 
preliminary  of  a  knock,  and  little  Joey  Slip  walked 
^eriously  in.  He  said  he  had  come  to  see  the  min- 


176  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

ister.  He  sat  down  sedately  and  ceremoniously 
upon  the  carpet-lounge.  He  said  Marm  said  to 
say  Father 's  home  from  Georges'  drunk  as  a  fisht 
|  He  put  out  his  little  fingers  and  patted  Bayard  on 
the  cheek,  as  if  the  minister  had  been  the  child, 
and  Joey  the  old,  old  man. J 


xn. 

IT  was  night,  and  it  was  Angel  Alley.  One  of 
the  caprices  of  New  England  spring  had  taken  the 
weather,  and  it  had  suddenly  turned  cold.  The 
wind  blew  straight  from  the  sea.  It  was  going  to 
rain.  The  inner  harbor  was  full ;  in  the  dark, 
thick  air  bowsprits  nodded  and  swung  sleepily, 
black  outlines  against  little  glimmering  swathes  of 
grayish-yellow  cut  by  the  head-lights  of  anchored 
vessels.  Dories  put  out  now  and  then  from  the 
schooners,  and  rowed  lustily  to  the  docks ;  these 
were  packed  with  sailors  or  fishermen  who  leaped 
up  the  sides  of  the  wharves  like  cats,  tied  the 
painter  to  invisible  rings  in  black,  slimy  places,  and 
scrambled  off,  leaving  the  dory  to  bob  and  hit  the 
piers ;  or  they  cast  the  painter  to  the  solitary  oars- 
man, who  rowed  back  silently  to  the  vessel,  while 
his  gayer  shipmates  reeled,  singing,  over  the 
wharves  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the 
town. 

The  sky  was  heavily  clouded,  and  fog  was  steal- 
ing stealthily  off  the  Point. 

Angel  Alley  was  full,  that  night.  Half  a  dozen 
large  fishermen  were  just  in  from  Georges' ;  these 
had  made  their  trip  to  Boston  to  sell  their  cargoes 
of  halibut,  haddock,  or  cod,  and  had  run  home 


178  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

quickly  on  a  stiff  sou'easter,  or  were  unloading 
direct  at  their  native  wharves.  The  town  over- 
flowed with  men  of  unmistakably  nautical  callings, 
red  of  face,  strong  of  hand,  unsteady  of  step  ;  men 
with  the  homeless  eye  and  the  roving  heart  of  the 
sea  :  Americans,  Scotch,  Swedes,  Portuguese,  Ital- 
ians, Irish,  and  Finns  swung  up  together  from  the 
wharves  and  swarmed  over  the  alley,  ready  for 
a  song,  a  laugh  or  a  blow,  as  the  case  might  be  ; 
equally  prepared  to  smoke,  to  love,  to  quarrel,  or 
to  drink,  liable  to  drift  into  a  prayer-room  or  a 
bar-room,  just  as  it  happened,  and  there  was  small 
space  to  doubt  which  would  happen  ;  men  whose 
highest  aspiration  was  to  find  the  barber  and  the 
boot-black ;  men  who  steered  steadily  home,  think- 
ing of  their  baby's  laugh,  and  the  wife's  kiss ;  and 
men  who  turned  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left, 
who  lingered  for  neither  men  nor  gods  nor  vro- 
men,  but  pushed,  with  head  thrust  out  like  a  dog's 
on  the  scent,  straight  on  to  the  first  saloon  that 
gaped  at  them. 

Open  and  secret,  lawful  and  unlawful,  these 
were  of  an  incredible  number,  if  one  should  esti- 
mate the  size  of  the  short  street.  Angel  Alley 
overflowed  with  abomination,  as  the  tides,  befouled 
by  the  town,  overflowed  the  reeking  piers  of  the 
docks.  In  sailors'  boarding-houses,  in  open  bars, 
in  hidden  cellars,  in  billiard-rooms,  in  shooting-gal= 
leries,  in  dance-halls,  and  in  worse,  whiskey  ran  in 
rivers.  At  the  banks  of  those  black  streams  men 
and  some  women  crawled  and  drank,  flaunting  or 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  179 

hiding  their  fiery  thirst  as  the  mood  took  them, 
and  preying  upon  one  another,  each  according  to 
his  power  or  his  choice,  as  the  chance  of  an.  evil 
hour  decreed. 

Girls  with  hard  eyes  and  coarse  mouths  strutted 
up  and  down  the  alley  in  piteous  numbers.  Sights 
whose  description  cannot  blot  this  page  might  have 
been  detected  in  the  shadows  of  the  wharves  and  of 
the  winding  street.  Men  went  into  open  doors  with 
their  full  trips'  earnings  in  their  pockets,  and 
staggered  out  without  a  penny  to  their  shameful 
names.  Fifty,  seventy,  a  hundred  dollars,  vanished 
in  the  carouse  of  a  single  hour.  One  man,  a  for- 
eigner, of  some  nationality  unknown,  ran  up  and 
down,  wildly  calling  for  the  police.  He  had  been 
robbed  of  two  hundred  dollars  in  a  drunken  bout, 
last  night ;  he  had  but  just  come  to  such  senses  as 
nature  may  have  given  him,  and  to  the  discovery 
of  his  loss.  His  wife,  he  said,  lived  over  in  West 
Windover  ;  she  warn't  well  when  he  shipped  ;  there 
was  another  baby,  —  seven  young  ones  already,  — 
and  she  could  n't  get  trust  at  the  stores,  the  bills 
had  run  up  so  long. 

"  Lord  !  "  he  said  stupidly ;  "  s'pose  I  find  'em 
lay  in'  round  starved  ?  " 

He  stoutly  refused  to  go  home.  He  swore  he  'd 
rather  go  to  jail  than  face  her.  He  sat  down  on 
the  steps  of  old  Trawl's,  sobbing  openly,  like  a 
child.  A  little  crowd  gathered,  one  or  two  voices 
jeered  at  him,  and  some  one  scolded  him  smartly, 
for  no  one  moralizes  more  glibly  than  the  sot  in  his 
intervals  of  sobriety. 


180  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Oh,  shut  up  there !  "  cried  the  girl  Lena. 
"Ain't  he  miser'ble  enough  already?  Ain't  all 
of  us  that  much?  —  Go  home,  Jean!"  she  urged 
kindly;  "go  home  to  Marie.  She  won't  cuss 
you." 

"  She  never  cussed  me  yet"  answered  Jean 
doubtfully. 

He  got  up  and  reeled  away,  wringing  his  stubbed 
hands.  Lena  walked  up  the  alley,  alone  ;  her  eyes 
were  on  the  ground  ;  she  did  not  answer  when  one 
of  the  girls  called  her  ;  she  strolled  on  aimlessly, 
and  one  might  almost  say,  thoughtfully. 

"  Better  come  in,  Lena,"  said  a  voice  above  her. 
She  looked  up.  The  beautiful  new  transparency, 
which  was  still  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the 
fishermen  coming  home  from  Georges'  or  the 
Banks,  flashed  out  in  strong  white  and  scarlet 
lights  the  strange  words,  now  grown  familiar  to 
Angel  Alley :  — 

"THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  LOVE  OF  CHRIST." 

Beneath,  in  the  broken,  moving  color  stood  the 
minister ;  his  foot  was  on  the  topmost  step  of  the 
long  flight ;  he  looked  pale  and  tired. 

"  Is  n't  it  better  for  you  in  here,  than  out  there  ?  " 
he  asked  gently.  Lena  gave  one  glance  at  his 
pitying  eyes ;  then  she  followed  that  brilliance  like 
a  moth. 

He  stepped  back  and  allowed  her  to  precede 
him,  as  if  she  had  been  any  other  woman,  the 
only  difference  being  one  which  the  girl  was  not 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  181 

likely  to  notice :  the  minister  did  not  lift  his  hat 
to  Lena.  She  hung  her  head  and  went  in. 

"  They  are  singing  to-night  —  practicing  for 
their  concert,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  they  might  like 
the  help  of  your  voice." 

She  made  no  answer,  and  the  preacher  and  the 
street  girl  entered  the  bright  hall  together. 

It  was  well  filled  with  well-behaved  and  decently 
dressed  groups  of  men  and  women ;  these  were  in- 
formally scattered  about  the  main  room  and  the 
ante-rooms,  for  no  service  was  in  progress ;  the 
whole  bore  the  appearance  of  a  people's  club,  or 
social  entertainment,  whose  members  read  or  chat- 
ted, played  games,  or  sang,  as  the  mood  took  them. 

these  last  were  often  quite  full  and  busy  with  fish- 
ermen and  sailors ;  but  that  night  the  most  of  the 
people  were  listening  to  the  singing.  Music,  Bay- 
ard had  already  learned,  would  lead  them  any- 
where. At  the  first  sound  of  the  poor  and  pa- 
thetic melodepn,  they  had  begun  to  collect  around 
the  net  of  harmony  like  mackerel  round  a  weir. 
When  Lena  came  into  the  room,  the  little  choir 
were  singing  the  old  -  fashioned,  beautiful  Ave 
Sanctissima  which  even  Angel  Alley  knew.  Lena 
dropped  into  an  obscure  seat,  and  remained  silent 
for  a  time.  Suddenly  her  fine  contralto  rang  in,  — 

"  'T  is  midnight  on  the  sea. 

Ora  pro  nobis, 
We  lift  our  souls  to  thee." 

The  minister,  distant  and  paleT  blurred  before 


182  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

her  eyes  while  she  sang.  /He  looked  like  a  figure 
resting  on  a  cloud  in  a  sacred  picture.  >  He 
moved  about  among  his  people,  tall,  smiling,  and 
shining.  They  looked  at  him  with  wistful,  won- 
dering tenderness.  He  passed  in  and  out  of  the 
halls  on  errands  whose  nature  no  one  asked.  Oc- 
casionally he  returned,  bringing  some  huddling 
figure  with  him  from  the  street ;  a  homesick  boy. 
a  homeless  man,  a  half-sodden  fellow  found  hesi- 
tating outside  of  Trawl's  den,  midway  between 
madness  and  sanity,  ready  for  hell  or  heaven,  and 
following  Bayard  like  a  cur. 

Down  the  dark  throat  of  Angel  Alley  a  man, 
that  night,  was  doing  a  singular  thing.  He  was  a 
fisherman,  plainly  one  of  the  recent  arrivals  of  the 
anchored  fleet ;  he  was  a  sturdily  built  fellow  with 
a  well-shaped  head ;  he  had  the  naturally  opon 
face  and  attractive  bearing  often  to  be  found 
among  drinking  men  ;  at  his  best  he  must  have 
been  a  handsome,  graceful  fellow,  lovable  perhaps, 
and  loving.  At  his  worst,  he  was  a  cringing  sot. 
He  wore,  over  his  faded  dark-red  flannel  shirt,  the 
gingham  jumper  favored  by  his  class ;  and  it 
seemed  he  had  lost  his  hat.  This  man  was  mo- 
notonously moving  to  and  fro,  covering  a  given 
portion  of  Angel  Alley  over  and  again,  retracing 
his  unsteady  footsteps  from  point  to  point,  and 
repeating  his  course  with  mysterious  regularity. 
His  beat  covered  the  space  between  the  saloon 
of  old  Trawl  (which  stood  about  midway  of  the 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  183 

alley)  and  the  scarlet  and  white  transparency, 
whose  strange  and  sacred  heraldry  blazed,  held 
straight  out,  an  arm  of  fire,  across  the  mouth  of 
the  street.  Angel  Alley,  as  we  have  explained,  had, 
at  the  first,  inclined  to  call  the  mission  Christ's 
Rest,  for  reasons  of  its  own  ;  but  even  that  half- 
godless  reminder  of  a  history  better  forgotten 
was  growing  out  of  date.  The  people's  name  for 
Emanuel  Bayard's  house  of  worship  and  of  wel- 
come was  fast  settling  into  one  beautiful  word  — 
Christlove. 

/  The  fisherman  in  the  jumper  wavered  to  and 
fro  between  Christlove  and  the  ancient  grog-shop. 
In  the  dark  weather  the  figure  of  the  man  seemed 
to  swing  from  this  to  that  like  a  pendulum  ;  at 
moments  he  seemed  to  have  no  more  sense  or  senti- 
ence. He  was  hurled  as  if  he  were  forced  by  in- 
visible l  machinery ;  he  recoiled  as  if  wound  by  un- 
seen springs ;  now  his  steps  quickened  into  a  run, 
as  he  wrenched  himself  away  from  the  saloon,  and 
faced  the  prayer-room  ;  then  they  lagged,  and  he 
crawled  like  a  crab  to  the  rum-shop  door.  His 
hands  were  clenched  together.  Long  before  it 
began  to  rain  his  hatless  forehead  was  wet. 

His  eyes  stared  straight  before  him.  He 
seemed  to  see  nothing  but  the  two  open  doors 
between  which  he  was  vibrating.  No  one  had 
happened  to  notice  him,  or,  if  so,  his  movements 
were  taken  for  the  vagaries  of  intoxication.  A 
nerve  of  God  knows  what,  in  his  diseased  will 
began  to  throb,  and  he  made  a  leap  away  from 


184  A   SINGULAR   LIFE^, 

the  saloon,  and  ran  heavily  towards  the  white  and 
scarlet  lights  of  the  transparency  ;  at  the  steps,  he 
fell,  and  lay  groveling ;  he  could  hear  the  singing 
overhead :  — 

"  Ora  pro  nobis, 
We  lift  our  souls  to  thee." 

He  tried  to  climb  up  ;  but  something  —  call  it 
his  muscle,  call  it  his  will,  call  it  his  soul ;  it 
does  not  signify  —  something  refused  him,  and  he 
did  not  get  beyond  the  second  stair.  Slowly,  TtP1 
luctantly,  mysteriously,  his  feet  seemed  to  be 
dragged  back.  He  put  out  his  hands,  as  if  to 
push  at  an  invisible  foe ;  he  leaned  over  back- 
wards, planting  his  great  oiled  boots  firmly  in  the 
ground,  as  if  resisting  unseen  force;  but  slowly, 
reluctantly,  mysteriously,  he  was  pulled  back. 
At  the  steps  of  the  saloon,  in  a  blot  of  darkness, 
on  the  shadowed  side,  hesankjj  he  got  to  his 
hands  and  knees  like  an  animal,  and  there  he 
crawled.  (j[f  any  one  had  been  listening,  the  man 
might  have  been  heard  to  sob,  — 

"  It 's  me  and  the  rum  —  God  and  the  devil  — 
Now  we  '11  see  !  " 

~~  He  rose  more  feebly  this  time,  and  struggled 
over  toward  the  prayer-room ;  he  wavered,  and 
turned  before  he  had  got  there,  and  made  weakly 
back.  Panting  heavily,  he  crawled  up  the  steps 
of  the  saloon,  and  then  lurched  over,  and  fell  down 
into  the  blot  whence  he  had  come.  There  he  lay, 
crying,  with  the  arm  of  his  brown  gingham  jumper 
before  his  eyes. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  185 

f    "  Look   up,   Job ! "    said   a   low   voice   in   the 

/   shadow  at  his  side.     Job   Slip  lifted  his  sodden 
face,  swollen,   red,    and   stained  with  tears.     In- 

/      stinctively  he  stretched  up  his  hands. 

V^____."  Oh,  sir  !  "  was  all  he  said. 

Bayard  stood  towering  above  him ;  he  had  his 
grand  Saint  Michael  look,  half  of  scorn  and  half 
of  pity. 

Job  had  not  seen  his  face  before  since  the 
night  when  it  suddenly  rose  on  a  great  wave, 
like  that  of  another  drowning  man,  making  to- 
wards him  in  the  undertow  off  Ragged  Rock. 
Job  put  up  his  hands,  now,  before  his  own  face. 
He  told  Mari,  long  afterwards,  that  the  minister 
blinded  him.  I  J 

/  "  Get  up !  'J  said  Bayardynnuch  in  the  tone  in 
which  he  had  said  it  the  day  he  knocked  Job 
down. 

Job  crawled  up. 

/>      "  Come  here  !  "  said  the  preacher  sternly.     He  ; 
held  out  his  white  hand ;  Job  put  his  wet  and 
fishy  palm  into  it ;  Bayard  drew  that  through  his 
own   arm,   and    led   him   away   without    another 
word.     Old  Trawl  came  muttering  to  the   door,    , 
and  stood  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  shutting 
out  the  glare  of  the  bar-room  within,  to  watch  'J 
them.     Ben   looked  over  his  shoulder,   scowling. 
Father  and  son  muttered  unpleasantly  together,  as 
the   minister   and   the   drunkard   moved  off,  and 
melted  into  the  fine,  dark  rain. 

Bayard  led  his  man  down  towards  the  wharves. 


186  A   SINGULAR  ILIFE. 

It  was  dark,  there,  and  still  I  there  was  a  secluded 
spot,  which  he  knew  of,  under  a  salt-house  at  the 
head  of  a  long  pier  but  seldom  used  at  night.  The 
fine  rain  was  uncertain,  and  took  moods.  As  the 
two  came  down  the  larynx  of  the  Alley,  the  drizzle 
had  dripped  off  into  a  soft  mist.  Bayard  heard 
Captain  Hap  across  the  street  giving  utterance  to 
his  favorite  phrase  :  — 

"  It 's  comiii'  on  thick ;  so  thick  it  has  stems  to 
it." 

The  captain  looked  after  the  minister  and  the 
drunkard  with  disapproval  in  his  keen,  dark  eyes. 

"Better  look  out,  Mr.  Bayard!  "  he  called,  with 
the  freedom  of  a  nurse  too  recently  dismissed  not 
to  feel  responsible  for  his  patient.  "It  ain't  no 
night  for  you  to  be  settin'  round  on  the  docks. 
You  cough,  sir !  Him  you  've  got  in  tow  ain't 
worth  it  —  no,  nor  twenty  like  him  !  " 

"  That 's   a   fact,"  said   Job   humbly,  stopping 
short. 
f  "Come  on,  Job,"  Bayard  answered  decidedly. 

So  they  came  under  the  salt-house,  and  sat  down. 
Both  were  silent  at  first.  j(  Job  wiped  off .  an  old 
fish-keg  with  the  sleeve  of  his  jumper,  and  offered 
this  piece  of  furniture  to  the  minister ;  the  fisher- 
man perched  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  big  broken 
pile  which  reared  its  gray  head  above  the  wharf ; 
the  rising  tide  flapped  with  a  sinister  sound  under 
his  feet  which  hung  over,  recklessly  swinging.  Job 
looked  down  into  the  black  water.  He  was  man 
enough  still  to  estimate  what  he  had  done,  and 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  187 

miserable  enough  to  quench  the  shame  and  fire  in 
him  together  by  a  leap.  Men  do  such  things,  in 
crises  such  as  Job  had  reached,  far  oftener  than  we 
may  suppose.  Job  said  nothing.  Bayard  watched 
him  closely. 

"  Well,  Job  ? "  he  said  at  last ;  not  sternly,  as 
he  had  spoken  at  Trawl's  door. . 

"  I  have  n't  touched  it  before,  sir,  not  a  drop 
till  last  night,"  said  Job  with  sullen  dreariness. 
"  I  was  countin'  on  it  how  I  should  see  you  the 
fust  time  since  —  I  thought  of  it  all  the  way  home 
from  Georges'.  I  was  so  set  to  see  you  I  could  n't 
wait  to  get  ashore  to  see  you.  I  took  a  clean 
jump  from  the  dory  to  the  landin'.  I  upsot  the 
dory  and  two  men,  .  .  .  Mr.  Bayard,  sir,  the 
cap'n 's  right.  L ain't  wuth  it.  You'd  better  let 
me  drownded  off  the  Clara  Em." 

"  Tell  me  how  it  happened,"  said  Bayard  gently. 
Job  shook  his  head. 

"  You  know 's  well 's  I,  sir.  We  come  ashore, 

and  Trawl,  he  had  one  of  his runners  to  the 

wharf.  Ben  was  there,  bossin'  the job."  /^ 

The  minister  listened  to  this  profanity  without 
proffering  a  rebuke.  His  teeth  were  set;  he 
looked  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  say  as  much, 
himself. 

/jC  There  was  a  fellar  there  had  made  two  hun- 
dred dollars  to  his  trip.  He  treated.  So  I 
said  I  did  n't  want  any.  But  I  hankered  for  it 
till  it  seemed  I  'd  die  there  on  the  spot  before  'em. 
Ben,  he  sent  a  bar-boy  after  me  come  to  say  I 


188  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

need  n't  drink  unless  I  pleased,  but  not  to  be  on- 
social,  and  to  come  along  with  the  crowd.  So  I 
said,  No,  I  was  a  goin'  home  to  my  wife  and  kid. 
When  the  fellar  was  gone,  I  see  he  'd  slipped  a 
bottle  into  my  coat  pocket.  It  was  a  pint  bottle 
XXX.  The  cork  was  loose  and  it  leaked.  So  I 
put  it  back,  for  I  swore  I  wouldn't  touch  it,  and  I 
got  a  little  on  my  fingers.  I  put  'em  in  my  mouth 
to  lick  'em  off  —  and,  sir,  before  God,  that 's  all 
I  know  —  till  I  come  to,  to-day.  The  hanker 
got  me,  and  that 's  all  I  know.  I  must  ha'  ben 
at  it  all  night.  Seems  to  me  I  went  home  an' 
licked  my  wife  and  come  away  ag'in,  but  I  ain't 
sure.  I  must  ha'  ben  on  a  reg'lar  toot.  I  'm 

a drunken  fool,  and  the  quicker  you  let  me 

go  to the  better." 

Job  leaned  over  and  gazed  at  the  water  quietly. 
There  was  a  look  about  his  jaw  which  Bayml 
did  not  like.  He  came  out  from  under  the  salt- 
house  and  moved  the  keg  close  beside  the  broken 
pile. 

"  What  were  you  doing  when  I  found  you  ?  I  've 
been  looking  for  you  everywhere  —  last  night,  and 
all  day." 

"  I  was  havin'  it  out,"  said  Job  doggedly. 

"  Having  ?  "  — 

"It  lays  between  me  and  the  rum,  God  and  the 
devil.  I  was  set  to  see  which  would  beat." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  come  straight  over  to  see 
me?" 

"I  could  n't." 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  .  189 

"  Could  lib  t  put  your  feet  up  those  steps  and 
walk  in  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  could  n't  do  it.  I  come  over 
twenty  times.  I  could  n't  get  no  further.  I  had 
to  come  back  to  Trawl's.  I  HAD  TO  DO  IT  !  " 

Job  brought  his  clenched  hand  down  heavily  on 
his  knee. 

"  You  can't  onderstand,  sir,"  he  said  drearily. 
"  You  ain't  a  drinkin'  man." 

"  I  sometimes  wish  I  had  been,"  said  the  minis- 
ter unexpectedly.  "  I  must  understand  these 
things." 

"  God  forbid ! "  said  Job  solemnly.  He 
stretched  his  shaking  arm  out  with  a  beautiful 
gesture,  and  put  it  around  Bayard,  as*  if  he  were 
shielding  from  taint  a  woman  or  some  pure  being 
from  an  unknown  world. 

Tears  sprang  to  the  minister's  eyes.  He  took 
the  drunkard's  dirty  hand,  and  clasped  it  warmly. 
The  two  men  sat  in  silence.  Job  looked  at  the 
water.  Bayard  looked  steadily  at  Job. 

"  Come,"  he  said  at  length,  in  his  usual  tone. 
"  It  is  beginning  to  rain,  in  earnest.  I  *m  not  quite 
strong  yet.  I  suppose  I  must  not  sit  here.  Take 
my  arm,  and  come  home  to  Mari  and  Joey." 

Job  acquiesced  hopelessly.  He  knew  that  it 
would  happen  all  over  again.  They  walked  on 
mutely ;  their  steps  fell  with  a  hollow  sound  upon 
the  deserted  pier ;  the  water  sighed  as  they  passed, 
like  the  involuntary  witness  of  irreclaimable 
tragedy. 


190  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Suddenly,  Bayard  dropped  Job's  hand,  and 
spoke  in  a  ringing  voice  :  — 

"  Job  Slip,  get  down  upon  your  knees  —  just 
where  you  stand  !  " 

Job  hesitated. 

"  Down  ! "  cried  Bayard. 

Job  obeyed,  as  if  he  had  been  a  dog. 

4fe  Now,  lift  up  your  hands  —  so  —  to  the  sky." 

As  if  the  minister  had  been  a  cut-throat,  Job 
obeyed  again. 

"  Now  pray,1'  commanded  Bayard. 

"  I  don't  know  —  how  to,"  stammered  Job. 

"  Pray  !     Pray  !  "  repeated  Bayard. 

"  I  've  forgot  the  way  you  do  it,  sir !  " 

"  No  matter  how  other  people  do  it !  This  is 
your  affair.  Pray  your  own  way.  Pray  anyhow. 
But  pray  !  " 

"  I  have  n't  done  such  a  thing  since  I  was  — 
since  I  used  to  say  :  '  Eenty  Deenty  Donty,'  —  no, 
that  ain't  it,  neither.  '  Now  I  lay  me  ? '  That  's 
more  like  it.  But  that  don't  seem  appropriate  to 
the  circumstances,  sir." 

"  Try  again,  Job." 

"  'T  ain't  no  use,  Mr.  Bayard.  I  'm  a  goner.  If 
I  could  n't  keep  sober  for  you,  I  ain*t  ergointer  for 
no  Creetur  I  never  see  nor  spoke  to,  —  nor  no  man 
ever  see  nor  spoke  to,  —  a  thousand  fathoms  up 
overhead." 

Job  lifted  his  trembling  arms  high  and  higher 
towards  the  dark  sky. 

"  Pray  !  "  reiterated  Bayard. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  191 

"  I  can't  do  it,  sir !  " 

"  Pray  !  "  commanded  Bayard. 

"  Oh,  —  God  !  "  gasped  Job. 

Bayard  took  off  his  hat.  Job's  arms  fell^ 
his  face  dropped  into  them ;  he  shook  from  head 
to  foot. 

"  There  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  done  it.  ...  I  '11  do  it 
again.  God!  God!  God!" 

Bayard  bowed  his  Lead.  Moments  passed  before 
he  said,  solemnly,  — 

"  Job  Slip,  I  saved  your  life,  did  n't  I  ?  " 

"  You  committed  that  mistake,  sir." 

"  It  belongs  to  me,  then.  You  belong  to  me.  I 
take  you.  I  give  you  to  God." 

He  dropped  upon  his  knees  beside  the  drunkard 
in  the  rain. 

"  Lord,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  infinite  sweetness, 
"  here  is  a  poor  perishing  man.  Save  him  !  He 
has  given  himself  to  Thee." 

"The  parson  did  that,  Lord,"  sobbed  Job. 
"  Don't  give  me  no  credit  for  it !  " 

"  Save  him  ! "  continued  Bayard,  who  seemed 
hardly  to  have  heard  the  drunkard's  interruption. 
"  Save  me  this  one  man  !  I  have  tried,  and  failed, 
and  I  am  discouraged  to  the  bottom  of  my  heartc 
But  I  cannot  give  him  up.  I  will  never  give  him 
up  till  he  is  dead,  or  I  am.  If  I  cannot  do  any 
other  thing  in  Winclover,  for  Christ's  sake,  save 
me  this  one  drunken  man  !  " 

Bayard  lifted  his  face  in  a  noble  agony.  Job 
hid  his  own  before  that  Gethsemane. 


192  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"Does  the  parson  care  so  much  —  as  that?1' 
thought  the  fisherman. 

The  rain  dashed  on  Bayard's  white  face.  He 
rose  from  his  knees. 

"  Job  Slip,"  he  said,  "  you  have  signed  a  con- 
tract which  you  can  never  break.  Your  vow  lies 
between  God  and  you.  I  am  the  witness.  I  have 
bound  you  over  to  a  clean  life.  Go  and  sin  no 
more.  —  I  '11  risk  you  now,"  added  Bayard,  quietly. 
"  I  shall  not  even  walk  home  with  you.  You  have 
fifteen  rum-shops  to  meet  before  you  get  back 
to  your  wife  and  child.  Pass  them !  They  all 
stand  with  open  doors,  and  the  men  you  know  are 
around  these  doors.  You  will  not  enter  one  of 
them.  You  will  go  straight  home  ;  and  to-morrow 
you  will  send  me  written  testimony  from  Mari, 
your  wife,  —  I  want  her  to  write  it,  Job>  —  that 
you  did  as  I  bade  you,  and  came  home  sober. 
Now  go,  and  God  go  with  you." 

As  Bayard  turned  to  give  the  drunkard  his  hand, 
he  stumbled  a  little  over  something  on  the  dark 
pier.  Job  had  not  risen  from  his  knees,  but 
stooped,  and  put  his  lips  to  the  minister's  patched 
shoe. 

"This  is  to  sertify  that  my  Husband  come 
Jhome  last  nite  sober  and  haint  ben  on  a  Bat  seiice, 
god  bless  you  enriyhow.  MARIA  SLIP." 

This  legend,  written  in  a  laborious  chirography 
on  a  leaf  torn  from  a  grocer's  pass-book,  was  put 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  193 

into  Bayard's  hand  at  noon  of  the  next  day.  Joey 
brought  it ;  he  had  counted  upon  a  nap  on  the 
study  lounge,  and  was  rather  disappointed  to  find 
it  occupied.  Mrs.  Granite  said  she  had  sent  for 
Cap'n  Hap;  she  said  the  minister's  temperature 
had  gone  up  to  a  hundred  and  twenty,  and  she 
should  think  it  would. 


xm. 

JANE  GRANITE  came  out  of  the  kitchen  doorv 
and  sat  down  in  the  back  yard  underneath  the 
clothes-lines.  She  sat  on  the  overturned  salt-fish 
box  that  she  kept  to  stand  on  and  reach  the 
clothes-pins,  —  Jane  was  such  a  little  body.  She 
looked  smaller  than  usual  that  Monday  afternoon, 
and  shrunken,  somehow ;  her  eyes  were  red,  as  if 
she  had  been  crying.  She  cried  a  good  deal  on 
Mondays,  after  Ben  Trawl  had  come  and  gone  on 
Sunday  evenings. 

The  minister  was  quite  himself  again,  and  about 
his  business.  This  fact  should  have  given  Jane 
the  keenest  gratification  ;  whereas,  in  proportion  as 
their  lodger  had  grown  well  and  cheerful,  Jane  had 
turned  pale  and  sober.  When  he  was  really  ill, 
her  plain  face  wore  a  rapt  look.  For  Captain  Hap 
had  remained  on  duty  only  a  day  or  two  ;  Mr.  Bay- 
ard had  not  been  sick  enough  to  need  professional 
nursing,  this^  time,  and  it  had  since  devolved  wholly 
upon  the  women  of  the  household  to  minister  to  his 
convalescent  needs. 

Happy  Jane  !  She  ran  up  and  down,  she  flitted 
to  and  fro,  she  cooked,  she  ironed,  she  mended,  she 
sewed,  she  read  aloud,  she  ran  errands,  she 
watched  for  the  faintest  flicker  in  the  changes  of 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  195 

expression  on  his  face :  its  dignity,  its  beauty,  and 
its  dearness  for  that  one  precious  page  out  of  her 
poor  story  were  hers.  All  the  rest  of  her  life  he 
belonged  to  other  people  and  to  other  things  :  to 
the  drunkards  and  the  fishermen  and  the  services  j 
to  his  books  and  his  lonely  walks  and  his  unap* 
proachable  thoughts ;  to  his  dreams  of  the  future 
in  which  Jane  had  no  more  part  than  the  paper 
Cupid  on  the  screen,  forever  tasting  and  never  eat- 
ing impossible  fruit }  to  his  memories  of  a  past  of 
which  Jane  knew  that  she  knew  no  more  than  she 
did  of  the  etiquette  at  the  palace  of  Kubla  Khan  in 
Xanadu. 

Jane  understood  about  Kubla  Khan  (or  she 
thought  she  did,  which  answers  the  same  purpose), 
for  she  had  read  the  poem  aloud  to  him  one  day 
while  her  mother  sat  sewing  in  the  wooden  rock- 
ing-chair. Jane  was  "  educated,"  like  most  re- 
spectable Windover  girls ;  she  had  been  through 
the  high  school  of  her  native  town ;  she  read  not 
at  all  badly ;  Mr.  Bayard  had  told  her  something 
to  this  effect,  and  Jane  sang  about  the  house  all 
the  rest  of  the  day.  Yes ;  Jane  understood  Kubla 
Khan. 

Jane  watched  the  luminous  patience  in  the  sick 
man's  eyes, 

"  Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man." 

She  repeated  the  lines  mechanically,  with  the  bitten 
consciousness  of  the  half-educated  of  being  moved 
by  something  which  it  was  beyond  her  power  and 


196  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

her  province  to  reconcile  with  the  facts  of  her  life. 
She  sighed  when  the  brilliant  eagerness  and  rest- 
lessness of  returning  health  replaced  that  large  and 
gentle  light.  Bayard  had  asked  her  mother  to  let 
Jane  keep  his  copy  of  that  volume  ;  he  said  he 
had  two  sets  of  Coleridge.  He  had  written  her 
name  in  it ;  how  could  he  guess  that  Jane  would 
lock  the  book  away  in  her  bureau  drawer  by  day, 
and  sleep  with  it  under  her  pillow  at  night  ?  He 
tossed  her  a  rose  of  common  human  gratitude  ;  it 
fell  into  a  girl's  heart, — a  burning  coal  of  raven- 
ous longing,  —  and  ate  its  way. 

It  was  summer  in  Windover ;  and  Jane's  one 
beautiful  leaf  of  life  had  turned.  Mr.  Bayard  had 
long  since  been  able  to  take  care  of  himself; 
coughing  still,  and  delicate  enough,  but  throwing 
off  impatiently,  as  the  gentlest  man  does,  in  health, 
the  little  feminine  restraints  and  devotions  which 
he  found  necessary  and  even  agreeable  in  illness. 
It  would  not  be  too  much  to  say  that  Jane  loved 
him  as  unselfishly  as  any  woman  ever  had,  or  ever 
would ;  but  in  proportion  as  his  spirits  rose,  hers 
sank.  She  reproached  herself,  poor  child,  that  it 
did  not  make  her  perfectly  happy  to  have  the  min- 
ister get  well.  Suffering  and  helpless,  he  had 
needed  her.  Busy  and  well,  he  thought  of  her  no 
more.  For  that  one  time,  that  cruelly  little  time, 
she,  Jane  Granite,  of  all  the  women  in  the  world, 
had  known  that  precious  right.  To  her,  only  to 
her,  it  had  been  given  to  serve  his  daily,  common 
Wants ;  she  had  carried  up  his  tray,  she  had  read  02 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  197 

written  tireless  hours  as  his  mood  decreed,  or  she 
had  sat  in  silent  study  of  his  musing  face,  not  one 
lineament  of  which  did  muse  of  her. 

But  it  was  summer  in  Windover,  and  the  minis 
ter  was  Jane's  no  more. 

It  was  one  of  the  last  of  the  days  of  a  celestial 
June.  Bayard  had  lived  the  month  of  blossoms 
out  eagerly  and  restlessly.  His  work  had  grown 
enormously  upon  his  hands,  and  required  an  atten- 
tion which  told  on  every  nerve.  He  had  gone 
headlong  into  the  depths  of  one  of  those  dedications 
which  do  not  give  a  man  time  to  come  up  for  air. 
/His  eye  wore  an  elate,  rapt  look.  His  cheeks 
burned  with  a  fine  fever.  His  personal  beauty 
that  summer  was  something  at  which  the  very 
"  dock-rats  "  on  the  wharves  turned  back  to  look. 
No  woman  easily  forgot  it,  and  how  many  secretly 
dreamed  of  it,  fortunately  the  young  man  never 
knew.  The  best  of  men  may  work  his  share  of 
heart-break,  and  the  better  he  is  the  less  he  will 
suspect  it.) 

Bayard  was  far  too  busy  to  think  of  women. 
For  he  did  not  exactly  think  of  Helen  Carruth; 
he  felt  her.  She  did  not  occupy  his  mind  so  far 
that  he  experienced  the  need  of  communication 
with  her ;  he  had  never  written  her  so  much  as  a 
note  of  ceremony.  After  her  brief  scintillation  be- 
fore him  on  Windover  Point  that  April  afternoon, 
she  had  melted  from  his  horizon.  Nevertheless, 
she  had  changed  the  tint  of  it.  Now  and  then  in 
the  stress  of  his  prosaic,  thankless,  yet  singularly 


198  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

enthusiastic  work,  there  came  to  the  young  preacher 
that  sense  of  something  agreeable  about  to  happen, 
which  makes  one  wake  up  singing  in  the  morn- 
nig  of  one's  hardest  day's  labor,  or  sends  one  to 
rest  dreaming  quietly  in  the  face  of  the  cruelest 
anxiety.  The  devotee,  in  the  midst  of  his  orisons, 
was  aware  of  the  footstep  of  possible  pleasure  fall- 
ing  lightly,  distant,  doubtful,  towards  his  celL 
Some  good  men  pray  the  louder  for  this  sweet  and 
perilous  prescience.  Bayard  worked  the  harder. 

And  it  was  summer  in  Windover.  The  scanty 
green  carpet  of  the  downs  had  unrolled  to  its  full, 
making  as  much  as  possible  of  its  meagre  propor- 
tions, atoning  in  depth  of  color  for  what  it  lacked 
in  breadth  and  length :  if  the  cliffs  and  boulders 
were  grayer  for  the  green,  the  grass  looked  greener 
for  the  gray.  The  saxifrage  had  faded,  but  among 
the  red-cupped  moss  the  checkerberry  shot  np 
tender,  reddish  leaves,  the  white  violets  scented 
the  swamps,  and  the  famous  wild  roses  of  the 
Cape  dashed  the  bayberry  thickets  with  pink.  The 
late  apple  blossoms  had  blushed  and  gone,  but 
the  leaf  and  the  hidden  fruit  responded  to  the 
anxious  attention  of  the  unenthusiastic  farmer  who 
wrenched  his  living  out  of  the  reluctant  granite 
soil.  In  front  of  the  hotels  the  inevitable  gerani- 
ums blazed  scarlet  in  mathematical  flower-beds; 
and  the  boarding-houses  convalesced  from  house- 
cleaning  in  striped  white  scrim  curtains  and 
freshly  painted  blue  wooden  pumps.  The  lemon- 
ade and  candy  stores  of  "  the  season  "  sprouted 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  199 

with  the  white  clovers  by  the  wayside ;  and  the 
express  cart  of  the  summer  boarder's  luggage 
blossomed  with  the  lonely  and  uncomfortable  hy- 
drangea, bearing  its  lot  in  yellow  jars  on  piazza 
steps.  Windover  Point  wore  a  coquettish  air  of 
expectation,  like  a  girl  in  her  best  dress  who  waits 
in  a  lane  for  an  invisible  admirer. 

Windover  Harbor  was  alive  and  alert.  The 
summer  fleets  were  out ;  the  spring  fleets  were  in. 
Bayard  could  hear  the  drop  of  anchors  now,  in  the 
night,  through  his  open  windows ;  and  the  soft, 
pleasant  splash,  the  home-coming  and  home-yearn- 
ing sound  which  wakened  the  summer  people,  only 
to  lull  them  to  sleep  again  with  a  sense  of  poetic 
pleasure  in  a  picturesque  and  alien  life,  gave  to 
the  lonely  preacher  of  the  winter  Windover  the 
little  start  of  anxiety  and  responsibility  which 
assassinates  rest.  He  thought :  — 

"  Another  crew  in  !  Is  it  Job  ?  Or  Bob  ?  Or 
Jean?  Will  they  go  to  Trawl's,  or  get  home 
straight  ?  I  must  be  off  at  dawn  to  see  to  this." 

On  the  little  beach  opposite  Mrs.  Granite's  cot- 
tage the  sea  sighed  in  the  night  to  answer  him  ; 
ebbing,  it  lapped  the  pebbles  gently,  as  if  it  felt 
sorry  for  the  preacher,  who  had  not  known  Wind- 
over  as  long  as  it  had ;  it  inhaled  and  exhaled 
long,  soft  breaths,  in  rhythm  with  which  his  own 
began  to  grow  deep  and  quiet ;  and  the  start  from 
a  dream  of  drowning  in  the  undertow  off  Ragged 
Rock  would  tell  him  that  he  had  slept.  More 
often,  of  late,  the  rising  tide  had  replied  ner- 


200  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

vously ;  it  was  fitful  and  noisy ;  it  panted  and 
seemed  to  struggle  for  articulation  :  for  the  June 
sea  was  restless,  and  the  spring  gales  had  died 
hard.  The  tints  of  the  harbor  were  still  a  little 
cool,  but  the  woodland  on  the  opposite  shore  held 
out  an  arm  of  rich,  ripe  leaf ;  and  the  careening 
sails  warmed  to  the  sunrise  and  the  sunset  in  rose 
and  ochre,  violet  and  pearl,  opening  buds  of  the 
blossom  of  midsummer  color  that  was  close  at 
hand. 

Bayard  was  in  his  rooms,  resting  after  one  of 
these  unresting  nights.  He  had  set  forth  at  day- 
break to  meet  an  incoming  schooner  at  the  docks. 
It  had  become  his  habit,  whenever  he  could,  to  see 
that  the  fishermen  were  personally  conducted  past 
the  dens  of  Angel  Alley,  and  taken  home  sober  to 
waking  wife  and  sleeping  child.  In  this  laborious 
task  Job  Slip's  help  had  been  of  incredible  value. 
Job  was  quite  sober  now ;  and  in  the  intervals  be- 
tween trips  this  converted  Saul  delighted  to  play 
the  Paul  to  Bayard's  little  group  of  apostles.  Yet 
Job  did  not  pose.  He  was  more  sincere  than  most 
better  men.  He  took  to  decency  as  if  it  had  been 
a  new  trade  ;  and  the  novel  dignity  of  missionary 
zeal  sat  upon  him  like  a  liberal  education.  The 
Windover  word  for  what  had  happened  to  Job  was 
"re-formation."  Job  Slip,  one  says,  is  a  reformed 
man.  The  best  way  to  save  a  .rascal  is  to  give  him 
another  one  to  save  ;;  and  Job,  who  was  no  rascal, 
but  the  ruin  of  a  very  good  fellow,  brilliantly 
illustrated  this  eternal  law. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  201 

Bayard  had  come  back,  unusually  tired,  about 
noon,  and  had  not  left  the  house  since  his  return. 
He  was  reading,  with  his  back  to  the  light,  and 
the  sea  in  his  ears.  The  portiere  of  mosquito 
netting,  which  hung  now  at  the  door  between  his 
two  rooms,  was  pushed  aside  that  he  might  see  the 
photographed  Leonardo  as  he  liked  to  do.  The 
scanty  furniture  of  his  sleeping-room  had  been 
moved  about  during  his  recent  illness,  so  that  now 
the  picture  was  the  only  object  visible  from  the 
study  where  he  sat.  The  mosquito  portiere  was 
white.  Mrs.  Granite  having  ineffectually  urged  a 
solferino  pink,  Bayard  regarded  this  portiere  with 
the  disproportionate  gratitude  of  escape  from  evil. 

A  knock  had  struck  the  cottage  door,  and  Jane 
Granite  had  run  to  answer  it.  She  was  in  her 
tidy,  blue  gingham  dress,  but  a  little  wet  and 
crumply,  as  was  to  be  expected  on  a  Monday. 
She  had  snatched  up  a  white  apron,  and  looked 
like  an  excellent  parlor-maid.  For  such,  perhaps, 
the  caller  took  her,  for  practical  tact  was  not  his 
most  obtrusive  quality.  He  was  an  elderly  man,  a 
gentleman  ;  his  mouth  was  xstern,  and  his  eyes  were 
kind.  He  carried  a  valuable  cane,  and  spoke  with 
a  certain  air  of  authority,  as  of  a  man  well  ac- 
quainted with  this  world  and  the  other  too.  He 
asked  for  Mr.  Bayard,  and  would  send  up  his  card 
before  intruding  upon  him ;  a  ceremony  which 
quite  upset  little  Jane,  and  she  stood  crimson  with 
embarrassment.  Her  discomfort  was  not  decreased 
by  the  bewildering  presence  of  a  carriage  at  the 


202  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

gate  of  her  mother's  'garden.  Beyond  the  rows 
of  larkspur  and  feverfew,  planted  for  the  vase  on 
Mr.  Bayard's  study-table,  Mr.  Salt's  best  carryall, 
splendid  in  spring  varnish,  loomed  importantly. 
Pepper,  with  the  misanthropy  of  a  confirmed  dys* 
peptic,  drew  the  carryall,  and  ladies  sat  within  it. 
There  were  two.  They  were  covered  by  certain 
strange,  rich  carriage  robes  undreamed  of  by  Mr. 
Salt ;  dull,  silk  blankets,  not  of  Windover  designs. 
The  ladies  were  both  handsomely  dressed.  One 
was  old  ;  but  one  —  ah !  one  was  young. 

"  Mr.  Bayard  is  in,  my  dear."  The  voice  of  the 
caller  rose  over  the  larkspur  to  the  carryall. 
"  Will  you  wait,  or  drive  on  ?  " 

"  We  '11  drive  on,"  replied  the  younger  lady 
rather  hurriedly. 

"  Helen,  Helen  !  "  complained  the  elder.  "  Don't 
you  know  that  Pepper  is  afraid  of  the  electric 
cars  ?  I  've  noticed  horses  are  that  live  in  the 
same  town  with  them." 

Helen  did  not  laugh  at  this,  but  her  eyes 
twinkled  irreverently.  She  wrapped  herself  in 
her  old-gold  silk  blanket,  and  turned  to  watch 
the  sea.  She  did  not  look  at  Mrs.  Granite's 
cottage. 

The  dignified  accents  of  the  Professor's  voice 
were  now  wafted  over  the  larkspur  bed  again. 

"  Mr.  Bayard  asks  if  the  ladies  will  not  come  up 
to  his  study,  Statira  ?  It  is  only  one  short  flight. 
Will  you  do  so  ?  " 

Simultaneously  Bayard's  eager  face  flashed  out 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  203 

of  the  doorway  ;  and  before  Helen  could  assent  or 
dissent,  her  mother,  on  the  young  man's  arm,  was 
panting  up  between  the  feverfew  and  into  the  cot- 
tage. Helen  followed  in  meek  amusement. 

O 

The  stairs  were  scarcely  more  than  a  ship's 
gangway.  Mrs.  Carruth  politely  suppressed  her 
sense  of  horrified  inadequacy  to  the  ascent,  and 
she  climbed  up  as  bravely  as  possible.  Helen's 
cast-down  eyes  observed  the  uncarpeted  steps  of 
old,  stained  pine-wood.  She  was  still  silent  when 
they  entered  the  study.  Bayard  bustled  about,  offer- 
ing Mrs.  Carruth  the  bony  rocking-chair  with  the 
turkey-red  cushion.  The  Professor  had  already 
ensconced  himself  in  the  revolving  study-chair, 
a  luxury  which  had  been  recently  added  to  the 
room.  There  remained  for  Helen  the  lounge,  and 
Bayard,  perforce,  seated  himself  beside  her.  He 
did  not  remark  upon  the  deficiency  of  furniture. 
He  seemed  as  much  above  an  apology  for  the  lack 
of  upholstery  as  a  martyr  in  prison,  jf  His  face  was 
radiant  with  a  pleasure  which  no  paltry  thought 
could  poison.  The  simple  occasion  seemed  to  him 
one  of  high  festivity.  It  would  have  been  impos- 
sible for  any  one  of  these  comfortable  people  to 
understand  what  it  meant  to  the  poor  fellow  to 
entertain  old  friends  in  his  lonely  quarters. 

Helen's  eyes  assumed  a  blank,  polite  look ;  she 
said  as  little  as  possible  at  first ;  she  seemed  ad- 
justing herself  to  a  shock.  Mrs.  Carruth  warbled 
on  about  the  opening  of  the  season  at  the  Main- 
sail, and  the  Professor  inquired  about  the  effects 


204  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

of  the  recent  gales  upon  the  fishing  classes.  He 
avoided  all  perilous  personalities  as  adroitly  as  if 
he  had  been  fencing  with  a  German  radical  over 
the  authenticity  of  the  Fourth  Gospel.  It  was 
Bayard  himself  who  boldly  approached  the  dan 
gerous  ground. 

"  You  came  on  Saturday,  I  suppose  ?  I  did  not 
know  anything  about  it  till  this  minute." 

"  We  did  not  come  till  night,"  observed  Helen 
hurriedly.  "  Mother  was  very  tired.  We  did  not 
go  out  anywhere  yesterday." 

"The  Professor  did,  I'll  be  bound,"  smiled 
Bayard.  "  Went  to  church,  did  n't  you,  Pro- 
fessor?" 

"  Ye — es,"  replied  Professor  Carruth,  hesitat- 
ing. "  I  never  omit  divine  service  if  I  am  on  my 
feet." 

"  Did  you  hear  Fen  ton  ?  "  asked  Bayard  with 
perfect  ease  of  manner. 

"  Yes,"  more  boldly  from  the  Professor,  "  I  at- 
tended the  First  Church.  I  like  to  recognize  The 
Denomination  wherever  I  may  be  traveling.  I 
always  look  up  my  old  boys,  of  course,,  too.  It 
seems  to  be  a  prosperous  parish." 

"It  is  a  prosperous  parish,"  assented  Bayard 
heartily.  "  Fenton  is  doing  admirably  with  it, 
Did  you  hear  him  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,"  replied  the  Professor,  breathing 
more  freely.  "I  heard  Fenton.  He  did  well  — 
quite  well.  He  has  not  that  scope  of  intellect 
which  —  I  never  considered  him  our  ablest  man ; 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  205 

but  his  theology  is  perfectly  satisfactory.  He 
preached  an  excellent  doctrinal  sermon.  The 
audience  was  not  so  large  as  I  could  have  wished ; 
but  it  seemed  to  be  of  a  superior  quality  —  some 
of  your  first  citizens,  I  should  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  our  first  people  all  attend  that 
church.  You  did  n't  find  many  of  my  crowd 
there,  I  presume  ?  " 

Bayard  laughed  easily. 

"  I  did  not  recognize  it,"  said  the  Professor, 
"as  a  distinctly  fishing  community  —  from  the 
audience  ;  no,  not  from  that  audience." 

"  Not  many  of  my  drunkards,  for  instance,  sir  ? 
Not  a  strong  salt-fish  perfume  in  the  First  Church  ? 
Nor  a  whiff  of  old  New  England  rum  anywhere  ?  " 

"  The  atmosphere  was  irreproachable,"  returned 
the  Professor  with  a  keen  look. 

Bayard  glanced  at  Helen,  who  had  been  sitting 
quietly  on  the  sofa  beside  him.  Her  eyes  returned 
his  merriment. 

"  Father  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  Mr.  Bayard  does 
not  recant.  He  is  proud  of  it.  He  glories  in  his 
heresy.  He  is  laughing  at  his  martyrdom  —  and 
at  us.  I  think  you  'd  better  4  let  up '  on  him 
awhile." 

"  Let  up,  Helen  ?  Let  up  ? "  complained  her 
mother.  "  That  is  a  very  questionable  expression. 
Ask  your  father,  my  dear,  if  it  is  good  English. 
And  I  'm  sure  Mr.  Bayard  will  be  a  gentlemanly 
heretic,  whatever  he  is." 

Helen  laughed  outright,  now.      Bayard  joined 


206  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

her ;  and  the  four  drew  breath  and  found  them- 
selves at  their  ease. 

uFor  my  part,"  said  Helen  unexpectedly,  "I 
should  like  to  see  Mr.  Bayard's  church  —  if  he 
would  stoop  to  invite  us.  ...  I  suppose,"  she 
added  thoughtfully,  "one  reason  saints  don't 
stoop,  is  for  fear  the  halo  should  tumble,  off.  It 
must  be  so  inconvenient !  Don't  you  ever  have  a 
stiff  neck,  Mr.  Bayard?" 

"Why,  Helen!  "  cried  Mrs.  Carruth  in  genuine 
horror.  She  hastened  to  atone  for  her  daughter's 
rudeness  to  a  young  man  who  already  had  enough 
to  bear.  "  I  will  come  and  bring  Helen  myself, 
Mr.  Bayard,  to  hear  you  preach  —  that  is,  if  you 
would  like  to  have  us." 

"  Pray  don't !  "  protested  Bayard.  "  The  Pro- 
fessor's hair  would  turn  black  again  in  a  single 
night.  It  won't  do  for  you  to  recognize  an  outlaw 
like  me,  you  know.  Why,  Fenton  and  I  have  n't 
met  since  he  came  here ;  unless  at  the  post-office. 
I  understand  my  position.  Don't  feel  any  delicacy 
about  it.  /  don't.  I  can't  stop  for  that !  I  am 
too  busy." 

The  Professor  of  Theology  colored  a  little. 

"  The  ladies  of  my  family  are  quite  free  to  visit 
any  of  the  places  of  worship  around  us,"  he  ob- 
served with  some  dignity.  "  They  are  not  bound 
by  the  same  species  of  ecclesiastical  etiquette  "  — 

"  We  must  be  going,  Mother,"  said  Helen  ab- 
ruptly. Her  cheeks  were  blazing  ;  her  eyes  met 
Bayard's  with  a  ray  of  indignant  sympathy  which 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  207 

went  to  his  head  like  wine.  He  felt  the  light, 
quick  motion  of  her  breath  ;  the  folds  of  her  sum- 
mer  dress  — » he  could  not  have  told  what  she  wore 
—  fell  over  the  carpet  lounge  ;  the  hem  of  the 
dress  touched  his  boot,  and  just  covered  the  patch 
on  it  from  sight.  He  had  but  glanced  at  her 
before.  He  looked  at  her  now;  her  heightened 
color  became  her  richly  ;  her  hand  —  she  wore  a 
driving-glove  —  lay  upon  the  cretonne  sofa  pillow ; 
she  had  picked  a  single  flower  as  she  came  up 
Mrs.  Granite's  garden  walk.  /I Bayard  was  amused 
to  see  that  she  had  instinctively  taken  a  deep  pur- 
ple pansy  with  a  heart  of  gold.  / 

A  little  embarrassed,  Helen  held  out  the  pansy. 

"  I  like  them,"  she  said.  "  They  ma,ke  faces  at 
me." 

44  This  one  is  a  royal  creature,"  said  Bayard. 
"  It  has  the  face  of  a  Queen." 

"Mr.  Bayard,"  asked  Mrs.  Carruth,  with  the 
air  of  starting  a  subject  of  depth  and  force.  "  do 
you  find  any  time  to  analyze  flowers  ?  " 

"  So  far  —  hardly,"  replied  Bayard,  looking 
Helen  straight  in  the  face. 

44 1  used  to  study  botany  when  I  was  a  young 
lady  —  in  New  York,"  observed  Mrs.  Carruth 
placidly ;  44  it  seems  to  me  a  very  wholesome  and 
refining  "  — 

44  Papa ! "  cried  Helen,  44  Pepper  is  eating  a 
tomato  can  —  No,  it 's  a  piece  of  —  It  is  an 
apron  —  a  gingham  apron  !  The  menu  of  that 
horse,  Mr.  Bayard,  surpasses  anything  "  — 


208  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"It  is  plainly  some  article  belonging  to  the 
ladies  of  the  house,"  said  Bayard,  laughing. 

He  had  started  to  rescue  the  apron,  when  Jane 
Granite  was  seen  to  run  out  and  wrench  that  por- 
tion of  her  wardrobe  from  Pepper's  voracity. 

"  That,"  observed  Mrs.  Carruth,  "  is  the  maid, 
I  presume  ?  " 

"  It  is  Miss  Granite,  my  landlady's  daughter," 
replied  Bayard  with  some  unnecessary  dignity. 
Poor  little  Jane,  red  in  the  face,  and  raging  at  the 
heart,  stood,  with  the  eyes  of  the  visitors  upon  her, 
contending  with  Pepper,  who  insisted  on  retaining 
the  apron  strings,  and  had  already  swallowed  one 
halfway. 

Quick  to  respond  to  the  discomfort  of  any 
woman,  Bayard  ran  down  to  Jane's  relief. 

"  It  blew  over  from  the  lines,"  said  Jane.  She 
lifted  to  him  her  sad,  grateful  eyes.  She  woiJd 
have  cried,  if  she  had  ventured  to  speak.  Helen, 
from  the  window,  looked  down  silently. 

When  Bayard  came  upstairs  again,  his  visitors 
had  risen  to  leave,  in  earnest.  Helen  avoided  his 
eyes.  He  felt  that  hers  had  taken  in  every  detail 
of  his  poor  place:  the  iron  angel  on  the  ugly 
stove ;  the  Cupid  and  the  grapes  upon  the  paper 
screen ;  the  dreary,  darned,  brown  carpet  ;  the 
barren  shades ;  the  mosquito-net  portiere ;  the 
whole  homeless,  rude,  poverty-smitten  thing. 

"  You  have  a  fine  engraving  of  Guido's  Saint 
Michael,  here,"  observed  Professor  Carruth,  taking 
out  his  glasses. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  209 

"  And  I  notice  —  don't  I  see  another  good  pic- 
ture through  the  gauze  portiere  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Car- 
ruth  modestly. 

"  That  is  Leonardo's  Christ,"  said  the  Professor 
promptly,  at  a  look.  "  It  really  makes  a  singular, 
I  may  say  a  beautiful,  impression  behind  that  white 
stuff.  I  never  happened  to  see  it  before  with 
such  an  effect.  Look,  Helen!  It  seems  like  a 
transparency  —  or  a  cloud." 

A  devout  expression  touched  Helen's  face,  which 
had  grown  quite  grave.  She  did  not  answer,  and 
went  downstairs  behind  her  mother,  very  quietly. 

Jane  Granite  had  disappeared.  Pepper  was 
engaged  in  a  private  conflict  with  such  portions  of 
her  wardrobe  as  he  had  succeeded  in  swallow- 
ing ;  Mrs.  Carruth  mounted  heavily  into  the 
carryall,  and  Helen  leaped  after  her.  Then  it 
appeared  that  the  Professor  had  forgotten  his 
cane,  and  Bayard  ran  back  for  it.  As  he  came 
down,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Jane  Granite  in  the 
sitting-room.  She  was  crying. 

"  That  is  my  Charter  Oak  cane,"  observed  the 
Professor  anxiously  ;  "  the  one  with  the  handle 
made  from  the  old  ship  Constitution.  I  would  n't 
have  mislaid  it  on  any  account." 

"  Father  would  rather  have  mislaid  me,!'  said 
Helen  with  an  air  of  conviction.  Her  mother  was 
inviting  Mr.  Bayard  to  call  on  them  at  the  Fly- 
ing Jib.  Helen  said  nothing  on  this  point.  She 
smiled  and  nodded  girlishly,  and  Pepper  bore 
them  away. 


210  A   SINGULAR,  LIFE. 

Bayard  came  back  upstairs  three  steps  at  a 
time.  The  sitting-room  door  was  shut,  and  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  to  open  it.  He  had  quite  forgot- 
ten Jane.  He  closed  his  study-door  softly,  and 
went  and  sat  down  on  the  carpet  lounge ;  the 
pansy  that  she  had  dropped  was  there.  He 
looked  for  it,  and  looked  at  it,  then  laid  it  gently 
on  his  study-table.  He  took  up  the  cretonne 
pillow  where  her  hand  had  lain,  then  put  it  softly 
down. 

"I  must  keep  my  head,"  thought  the  young 
man.  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  too  brilliant 
eyes,  and  went,  with  compressed  lips,  to  his  study- 
table. 

But  Jane  Granite  went  out  in  the  back  yard, 
and  sat  down  under  the  clothes-lines,  on  the  salt- 
fish  box.  The  chewed  apron  was  in  her  hand. 
The  clothes  flapped  in  the  rising  wind  above  her 
head.  She  could  not  be  seen  from  the  house. 
Here  she  could  cry  in  peace. 

She  was  surprised  to  find,  when  she  was  seated 
there,  that  she  did  not  want  to  cry.  Her  eyes,  her 
throat,  her  lips,  her  head,  seemed  burning  to  ashes. 
Hot,  hard,  wicked  wishes  came  for  the  first  time 
in  her  gentle  life  to  Jane.  That  purple-and-gold 
woman  swam  giddily  between  her  and  the  summer 
sky. 

Jane  had  known  her  at  the  first  look.  Her  soul 
winced  when  she  recognized  the  stranger  of  the 
electric  car.  Mr.  Bayard  had  thought  Jane  did 
not  notice  that  lady  that  April  day.  Jane  had  by 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  211 

heart  every  line  and  tint  and  detail  of  her,  from 
the  gold  dagger  on  her  bonnet  to  the  dark  purple 
cloth  gaiter  of  her  boots ;  from  her  pleased  brown 
eyes,  with  the  well-bred  motion  of  their  lids,  to  the 
pretty  gestures  that^she  made  with  her  narrow^ 
gloved  hand.  Jane  looked  at  her  own  wash-day 
dress  and  parboiled  fingers.  The  indefinable,  un- 
deniable fact  of  the  stranger's  personal  elegance 
crushed  the  girl  with  the  sense  of  helpless  bitter- 
ness which  only  women  who  have  been  poor  and 
gone  shabby  can  understand.  The  language  of 
dress,  which  is  to  the  half-educated  the  symbol 
of  superiority,  conveyed  to  Jane,  in  advance  of  any 
finer  or  truer  vocabulary,  the  full  force  of  the 
situation. 

"  She  is  different,"  thought  Jane. 

These  three  words  said  it  all.  Jane  dropped  her 
face  in  her  soaked  and  wrinkled  fingers.  The  damp 
clothes  flapped  persistently  about  her  neat,  brown 
head,  as  if  trying  to  arouse  her  with  the  useless 
diversion  of  things  that  one  is  quite  used  to.  Jane 
thought  of  Ben  Trawl,  it  is  true,  but  without  any 
distinct  sense  of  disloyalty  or  remorse.  She  ex- 
perienced the  ancient  and  always  inexplicable  emo- 
tion not  peculiar  to  Jane  :  she  might  have  lived  on 
in  relative  content,  not  in  the  least  disturbed  by 
any  consciousness  of  her  own  ties,  as  long  as  the 
calm  eyes  she  worshiped  reflected  the  image  of  no 
other  woman.  Now  something  in  Jane's  heart 
seemed  to  snap  and  let  lava  through. 

Oh,  purple  and  gold,  gall  and  wormwood,  beauty 


212  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

and  daintiness,  heart-ache  and  fear !  Had  the 
Queen  come  to  the  palace  of  Kubla  Khan  ?  Let 
Alph,  the  sacred  river,  run  !  Who  was  she,  Jane 
Granite,  that  she  should  stem  the  sweeping  cur- 
rent? 

"...  Crying  again?  This  is  a  nice  way  to 
greet  a  fellar,"  said  roughly  a  sudden  voice  in 
Jane's  dulled  ear. 

Ben  Trawl  lifted  the  damp  clothes,  strode 
through  between  the  poles,  and  stood  beside  his 
promised  wife.  His  face  was  ominously  dark. 


XIV. 

IT  is  not  so  hard  to  endure  suffering  as  to  resist 
ease.  The  passion  for  martyrdom  sweeps  every- 
thing before  it,  as  long  as  it  is  challenged  by  no 
stronger  force.  Emanuel  Bayard  had  lived  for  a 
year  upon  the  elixir  of  a  spiritual  exaltation  such 
as  has  carried  men  to  a  glowing  death,  or  through 
a  tortured  life  without  a  throb  of  weakness.  He 
had  yet  to  adjust  his  nature  to  the  antidote  of  com- 
mon human  comfort. 

Like  most  of  the  subtler  experiences  of  life,  this 
came  so  naturally  that,  at  first,  he  scarcely  knew  it 
by  sight  or  name. 

It  was  not  a  noteworthy  matter  to  show  the 
courtesies  of  civilized  life  to  the  family  of  his  old 
Professor.  Bayard  reminded  himself  of  this  as 
he  walked  down  the  Point. 

It  was  quite  a  week  before  he  found  leisure  to 
attend  to  this  simple,  social  obligation.  His  duties 
in  Angel  Alley  had  been  many  and  laborious  ;  it 
did  not  occur  to  him  to  shorten  a  service  or  an 
entertainment ;  to  omit  a  visit  to  the  wharves  when 
the  crews  came  in,  or  to  put  by  the  emergency  of 
a  drunkard's  wife  to  a  more  convenient  season 
because  he  had  in  view  that  which  had  grown  so 
rare  to  the  young  man,  now  —  the  experience  of  a 


214  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

personal  luxury.  Like  a  much  older  and  more 
ascetic  man  than  he  was,  he  counted  the  beads  on 
his  rosary  of  labors  conscientiously  through.  Then 
he  hurried  to  her. 

Now,  to  women  of  leisure  nothing  is  so  incom- 
prehensible as  the  preoccupation  of  a  seriously 
busy  man.  Bayard  had  not  counted  upon  this 
feminine  fact:  indeed,  he  lived  in  a  world  where 
feminine  whim  was  an  element  as  much  outside  his 
calculation  as  the  spring  fashions  of  the  planet 
Uranus.  He  was  quite  at  a  loss  when  Miss  Car- 
ruth  received  him  distantly. 

The  Flying  Jib  was,  as  to  its  exterior,  an  ugly 
little  cottage  run  out  on  the  neck  of  the  jutting 
reef  that  formed  the  chief  attraction  of  the  Main- 
sail Hotel.  The  interior  of  the  Flying  Jib  varied 
from  a  dreary  lodge  to  a  summer  home,  according 
to  the  nature  of  the  occupants.  It  seemed  to 
Bayard  that  season  absurdly  charming.  He  had 
lived  so  long  out  of  his  natural  world,  that  the 
photographs  and  rugs,  the  draperies,  the  flowers, 
the  embroidery,  the  work-baskets,  the  bric-a-brac, 
the  mere  presence  of  taste  and  of  ladies,  appeared 
to  him  at  first  essential  luxury.  He  looked  about 
him  with  a  sigh  of  delight,  while  Mrs.  Carruth 
went  to  call  her  daughter,  who  had  gone  over  to 
the  fish-house  study  with  the  Professor,  and  who 
.could  be  seen  idling  along  home  over  the  meadow, 
a  stately  figure  in  a  pale,  yellow  summer  dresss 
with  a  shade  hat,  and  pansies  on  it. 

As  we  say,  that  young  lady  at  first  received  Bay- 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  215 

ard  coolly.  She  sauntered  into  the  little  parlor 
with  her  hands  full  of  sweet-briar,  nodded  to  him 
politely,  and  excused  herself  at  once  to  arrange  her 
flowers.  This  took  her  some  time.  Mrs.  Carruth 
entertained  him  placidly.  Helen's  eyes  saw  but  did 
not  seem  to  see  the  slightest  motion  of  his  nervous 
hand,  each  tone  of  expression  that  ran  over  his 
sensitive  face.  He  had  looked  so  eager  and  happy 
when  she  came  ;  almost  boyishly  thirsting  for  that 
Httle  pleasure  !  She  had  that  terrible  inability  to 
understand  the  facts  of  his  life  or  feeling  which 
is  responsible  for  most  of  the  friction  between  two 
half-attracted  or  half-separating  human  beings. 
But  when  she  saw  the  light  die  from  his  eyes,  when 
she  saw  that  hurt  look  which  she  knew  quite  well, 
settle  about  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  Helen  was 
ashamed  of  herself.  Mrs.  Carruth  was  mildly 
introducing  the  subject  of  mosquito  bars;  theirs, 
she  said,  were  all  on  the  second  story ;  the  supply 
didn't  go  round,  and  the  Professor  objected  to 
them  ;  so  the  hornets  — 

"  Mother,"  said  Helen,  "  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Bayard 
would  n't  like  to  have  us  show  him  the  clam 
study?" 

"  Your  father  said  he  should  be  at  work  on  the 
*  State  of  the  Unforgiven  after  Death,'  "  replied 
Mrs.  Carruth.  "  I  don't  know  that  we  ought  to 
disturb  him ;  do  you  think  we  ought,  Helen  ?  '' 

"  He  was  whittling  a  piece  of  mahogany  for  the 
head  of  a  cane  when  I  left  him,"  said  Helen 
irreverently ;  "he  stole  it  out  of  the  cabin  of  that 


216  A   SINGULAR  LIFE, 

old  wreck  in  the  inner  harbor.  Do  you  think  a 
Professor  of  Theology  could  be  forgiven  after  death 
for  sneak-thieving,  Mr.  Bayard  ?  " 

She  abandoned  the  idea  of  visiting  the  clam 
study,  however,  and  seated  herself  with  frank 
graciousness  by  their  visitor.  Mrs.  Carruth  hav 
ing  strolled  away  presently  to  keep  some  elderly 
tryst  among  the  piazza  ladies  of  the  hotel,  the 
young  people  were  left  alone.  • 

They  sat  for  a  moment  in  sudden,  rather  awkward 
silence.  Helen  looked  like  a  tall  June  lily,  in  her 
summer  gown  ;  she  had  taken  her  hat  off ;  her  hair 
was  a  little  tumbled  and  curly ;  the  wind  blew  in 
strong  from  the  sea,  tossing  the  lace  curtains  of  the 
Flying  Jib  like  sails  on  a  toy  boat.  The  scent  of 
the  sweet-briar  was  delicately  defined  in  the  room. 
Bayard  looked  at  her  without  any  attempt  to  speak. 
She  answered  his  silent  question  by  saying,  ab- 
ruptly :  - 

"  You  know  you  '11  have  to  forgive  me,  whether 
you  want  to,  or  not.  " 

"  Forgive  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  for  being  vexed.  I  was  a  .little,  at  first. 
But  I  needn't  have  been  such  a  schoolgirl  as  to 
show  it." 

"  If  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  what  I 
can  possibly  have  done  to  —  deserve  your  displea- 
sure —  "  began  Bayard  helplessly. 

"  If  a  man  does  n't  understand  without  being 
told,  I  've  noticed  he  cant  understand  when  he  is 
told.  .  .  .  Why  didn't  you  wait  till  next  fall  be- 
fore you  came  to  see  us,  Mr.  Bayard  ?  " 


A   SINGULAR  LI*FE.  217 

"  Oh  I  "  said  Bayard.  His  happy  look  came 
back  to  his  tired  face,  as  if  a  magic  lantern  had 
shifted  a  beautiful  slide.  "  Is  that  it?  " 

He  laughed  delightedly.  "  Why,  I  suppose  I 
^rnust  have  seemed  rude  —  neglectful,  at  any  rate= 
But  I  've  noticed  that  if  a  woman  does  n't  under- 
stand without  being  told,  she  makes  up  for  it  by 
her  readiness  of  comprehension  when  she  is  told." 

"  What  a  nice,  red  coal !  "  smiled  Helen.  "  The 
top  of  my  head  feels  quite  warm.  Dear  me ! 
Is  n't  there  a  spot  burned  bald  ?  " 

She  felt  anxiously  of  her  pretty  hair. 

4<  Come  over  and  see  my  work,"  said  Bayard, 
"  and  you  '11  never  ask  me  again  why  I  did  n't  do 
anything  I  —  would  so  much  rather  do." 

"  I  never  asked  you  before  !  "  flashed  Helen. 

"  You  did  me  an  honor  that  I  shall  remember," 
said  Bayard  gravely. 

"  Oh,  please  don't !  Pray  forget  it  as  soon  as 
you  can,"  cried  Helen,  with  red  cheeks. 

"  You  can't  know,  you  see  you  can't  know,  how 
a  man  situated  as  I  am  prizes  the  signs  of  the 
simplest  human  friendship  that  is  sincere  and 
womanly." 

So  said  Bayard  quietly.  Helen  drew  a  little 
quick  breath.  She  seemed  reconciled  now,  to 
herself,  and  to  him.  They  began  to  talk  at 
once,  quite  fast  and  freely.  Afterwards  he  tried 
to  remember  what  it  had  all  been  about,  but  he 
found  it  not  easy ;  the  evening  passed  on  wings  • 
he  felt  the  atmosphere  of  this  little  pleasure  with 


218  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

a  delight  impossible  to  be  understood  by  a  man 
who  had  not  known  and  graced  society  and  left  it. 
Now  and  then  he  spoke  of  his  work,  but  Helen 
did  not  exhibit  a  marked  interest  in  the  subject. 

Bayard  drew  the  modest  inference  that  he  had 
obtruded  his  own  affairs  with  the  obtuseness 
common  to  missionaries  and  other  zealots  :  he 
roused  himself  to  disused  conversation,  and  to 
the  forgotten  topics  of  the  world.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  this  was  precisely  what  she  in- 
tended. The  young  lady  drew  him  out,  and  drew 
him  on.  They  chatted  about  Cesarea  and  Beacon 
Street,  about  Art,  Clubs,  Magazine  literature,  and 
the  Symphony  Concerts,  like  the  ordinary  social 
human  being. 

"You   see  I  have   been    out   of   it   so   long!" 
pleaded  Bayard. 
-     "  Not  yet  a  year,"  corrected  Helen. 

"  It  seems  to  me  twenty,"  he  mused. 

"  You  don't  go  to  see  your  uncle,  yet  ?  " 

"  I  met  him  once  or  twice  down  town.  I  have 
not  been  home,  yet.  But  that  would  make  no 
difference.  I  have  no  leisure  for  —  all  these 
little  things." 

He  said  the  words  with  such  an  utter  absence 
of  affectation  that  it  was  impossible  either  to 
smile  or  to  take  offence  at  them.  Helen  regarded 
Mm  gravely. 

"  There  were  two  or  three  superb  concerts  this 
winter.  I  thought  of  you.  I  wished  you  hao1 


some  in  "  — 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  219 

"  Did  you  take  that  trouble  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  heard 'Schubert  played 
better  in  my  life,"  she  went  on,  without  noticing 
the  interruption.  u  Schoeffelowski  does  do  The 
Serenade  divinely." 

"  I  used  to  care  for  that  more  than  for  any 
other  music  in  the  world,  I  think,"  he  answered 
slowly. 

"  I  play  poorly,"  said  Helen,  "  and  I  sing  worse, 
and  the  piano  is  rented  of  a  Windover  schoolgirl. 
But  I  have  got  some  of  his  renderings  by  heart  — 
if  you  would  care  for  it." 

"  It  is  plain,"  replied  Bayard,  flushing,  "  that  I 
no  longer  move  in  good  society.  It  did  not  even 
occur  to  me  to  ask  you.  I  should  enjoy  it  —  it 
would  rest  me  more  than  anything  I  can  think  of. 
Not  that  that  matters,  of  course  —  but  I  should 
be  more  grateful  than  it  is  possible  for  you  to 
understand." 

Helen  went  to  the  piano  without  ado,  and 
began  to  sing  the  great  serenade.  She  played 
with  feeling,  and  had  a  sweet,  not  a  strong  voice  ; 
it  had  the  usual  amateur  culture,  no  more,  but 
it  had  a  quality  not  so  usual.  She  sang  with  a 
certain  sumptuous  delicacy  (if  the  words  may  be 
conjoined)  by  which  Bayard  found  himself  unex- 
pectedly moved.  He  sat  with  his  hand  over  his 
eyes,  and  she  sang  quite  through. 

"  Komm  begliicke  niich  ? 
Komm  begliicke  mich  !  " 

Her  voice  sank,  and  ceased.     What  tenderness ! 


220  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

What  strength!  What  vigor  and  hope  and  joy, 
and  —  forbid  the  thought !  —  what  power  of  lov- 
ing, the  woman  had ! 

"  Some  lucky  fellow  will  know,  some  day," 
thought  the  devotee.  Aloud,  he  said  nothing  at 
all.  Helen's  hands  lay  on  the  keys  ;  she,  too,  sat 
silent.  It  was  beginning  to  grow  dark  in  the 
cottage  parlor.  The  long,  lace  curtain  blew 
straight  in,  and  towards  her ;  as  it  dropped,  it 
fell  about  her  head  and  shoulders,  and  caught 
there;  it  hung  like  a  veil;  in  the  dim  light  it 
looked  like  — 

She  started  to  her  feet  and  tossed  it  away. 

"Oh!"  he  breathed,  "why  not  let  it  stay? 
Just  for  a  minute  !  It  did  nobody  any  harm." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  thought  Helen. 
But  what  she  said,  was,  — - 

"  I  will  light  the  candles." 

He  sprang  to  help  her  ;  the  sleeve  of  her 
muslin  dress  fell  away  from  her  arm  as  she  lifted 
the  little  flicker  of  the  match  to  the  tall  brass 
candlestick  on  the  mantel.  He  took  the  match 
from  her,  and  touched  the  candle.  In  the  dusk 
they  looked  at  each  other  with  a  kind  of  fear. 
Bayard  was  very  pale. 

Helen  had  her  rich,  warm  look.  She  appeared 
taller  than  usual,  and  seemed  to  stand  more 
steadily  on  her  feet  than  other  women. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  thank  you  ? "  asked 
Bayard  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No,"  said  Helen. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  221 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"Mother  will  be  back,"  observed  Helen,  not 
at  her  ease.  "  And  Father  will  be  getting  on 
with  the  Unforgiven,  and  come  home  any  minute." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Bayard,  seating  himself. 

"  Not  that  I  would  keep  you  !  "  suggested  Heleii 
suddenly. 

He  smiled  a  little  sadly,  and  this  time  unex- 
pectedly rose  again. 

"I  don't  expect  you  to  understand,  of  course. 
But  I  really  ought  to  go.  And  I  am  going." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Helen  stiffly,  in  her  turn. 

"  I  have  a  —  something  to  write,  you  see5"  ex- 
plained Bayard. 

"  You  don't  call  it  a  sermon  any  more,  do  you  ? 
Heresy  writes  a  '  something.'  How  delicious !  Do 
go  and  write  it,  by  all  means.  I  hope  the  Unfor- 
given will  appreciate  it." 

"  You  are  not  a  dull  woman,"  observed  Bayard 
uncomfortably.  "  You  don't  for  an  instant  sup- 
pose I  want  to  go  ?  " 

Helen  raised  her  thick,  white  eyelids  slowly ;  a 
narrow,  guarded  light  shone  underneath  them. 
She  only  answered  that  she  supposed  nothing 
about  ito 

"  If  I  stay,"  suggested  Bayard,  with  a  wavering 
look,  "will  you  sing  The  Serenade  to  me  —  all 
over  again  ?  " 

"  Not  one  bar  of  it !  "  replied  Helen  promptly. 

"  You  are  the  wiser  of  us  two,"  said  Bayard 
after  a  pause. 


222  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

The  tide  was  coming  in,  and  gained  upon  the 
reef  just  outside  the  cottage  windows,  with  a  soft, 
inexorable  sound. 

"I  am  not  a  free  man,"  he  added. 

"  Return  to  your  chains  and  your  cell,"  suggested 
Helen.  "  It  is  —  as  you  say  —  the  better  way." 

"  I  said  nothing  of  the  kind  !     Pardon  me." 

"  Did  n't  you  ?  It  does  not  signify.  It  does  n't 
often  signify  what  people  say  —  do  you  think?  " 

"  Are  you  coming  to  see  my  people  —  the 
work  ?  You  said  you  would,  you  know.  Shall  I 
call  and  take  you,  some  day  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  matters  —  to  the  drunkards  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Bayard,  looking  disappointed, 
"  never  mind." 

"  But  I  do  mind,"  returned  Helen,  in  her  full, 
boylike ,  voice.  "  I  want  to  come.  And  I  'm 
coming.  I  had  rather  come,  though,  than  be 
taken.  I  '11  turn  up  some  day  in  the  anxious  seat 
when  you  don't  expect  me.  I  '11  wear  a  veil,  and 
an  old  poke  bonnet  —  yes,  and  a  blanket  shawl  — 
and  confess.  I  defy  you  to  find  me  out !  " 

"  Miss  Carruth,"  said  the  young  preacher  with 
imperiousness,  "  my  work  is  not  a  parlor  cha- 
rade." 

Helen  looked  at  him.  Defiance  and  deference 
battled  in  her  brown  eyes ;  for  that  instant,  possi- 
bly, she  could  have  hated  or  loved  him  with  equal 
ease;  she  felt  his  spiritual  superiority  to  herself 
as  something  midway  between  an  antagonism  and 
an  attraction,  but  exasperating  whichever  way 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  223 

she  looked  at  it.  She  struggled  with  herself,  but 
made  no  reply. 

"  If  I  am  honored  with  your  presence,"  con- 
tinued Bayard,  still  with  some  decision  of  manner, 
"I  shall  count  upon  your  sympathy.  .  .  .  God 
knows  I  need  it ! "  he  added  in  a  different  tone. 

"  And  you  shall  have  it,"  said  Helen  softly. 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  melting  of  her  face ; 
but  he  knew  it  was  there.  They  stood  on  the 
piazza  of  the  cottage  in  the  strong,  salt  wind.  Her 
muslin  dress  blew  back.  The  dim  light  of  the 
candle  within  scarcely  defined  her  figure.  They 
seemed  to  stand  like  creatures  of  the  dusk,  uncer- 
tain of  each  other  or  of  themselves.  He  held  out 
his  hand ;  she  placed  her  own  within  it  cordially. 
How  warm  and  womanly,  how  strong  and  fine  a 
touch  she  had!  He  bade  her  good-night,  and 
hurried  away. 

That  "  something "  which  is  to  supersede  the 
sermon  was  not  written  that  night.  Bayard  found 
himself  unable  to  work.  He  sat  doggedly  at  his 
desk  for  an  hour,  then  gave  it  up,  put  out  his 
light,  and  seized  his  hat  again.  He  went  down  to 
the  beach  and  skirted  the  shore,  taking  the  spray 
in  his  face.  His  brain  was  on  fire ;  not  with  in- 
tellectual labor.  His  heart  throbbed ;  not  with 
anxiety  for  the  fishing  population.  He  reached  a 
reef  whence  he  could  see  the  Mainsail  Hotel,  and 
there  sat  down  to  collect  himself.  The  cottage 
was  lighted  now  ;  the  parlor  windows  glimmered 
softly ;  the  long,  lace  curtains  were  blowing  in  and 


224  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

out.  Shadows  of  figures  passed  and  repassed. 
The  Professor  had  settled  the  state  of  the  Unfor- 
given,  and  had  come  back  from  the  clam  study : 
he  paced  to  and  fro  across  the  parlor  of  the  Flying- 
Jib  ;  a  graceful  figure  clung  to  his  theologic  arm, 
and  kept  step  with  him  as  he  strode. 

Presently  she  came  to  the  low  window,  and 
pushed  back  the  lace  curtain,  which  had  blown 
in,  half  across  the  little  parlor.  She  lifted  her 
arms,  and  shut  the  window. 

The  waves  beat  the  feet  of  the  cliff  monotonously ; 
like  the  bars  of  a  rude,  large  music  which  no  man 
had  been  able  to  read.  Bayard  listened  to  them 
with  his  head  thrown  back  on  the  hard  rock,  and 
his  hat  over  his  eyes.  Even  the  gaze  of  the  stars 
seemed  intrusive,  curious,  one  might  say  imperti- 
nent, to  him.  He  desired  the  shell  of  the  mollusk 
that  burrowed  in  the  cleft  of  the  cliff. 

The  tide  was  rising  steadily.  The  harbor  wore 
its  full  look ;  it  seemed  about  to  overflow,  like  a 
surcharged  heart.  The  waves  rose  on  ;  they  took 
definite  rhythm.  All  the  oldest,  sweetest  meanings 
of  music  —  the  maddest  and  the  tenderest  cries 
of  human  longing  —  were  in  the  strain :  — 

"  Komm  beg-liicke  mich  ? 
Begliicke  mich !  " 

Those  mighty  lovers,  the  sea  and  the  shore, 
urged  and  answered,  resisted  and  yielded,  protested 
and  pleaded,  retreated  and  met,  loved  and  clasped, 
and  slept.  When  the  tide  came  to  the  full,  the 
wind  vvent  down. 


XV. 


DEAR  MR.  BAYARD,  —  I  have  been  thinking 
since  I  saw  you.  I  have  health,  and  a  summer. 
What  can  I  do  to  help  your  work  ?  I  have  n't  a 
particle  of  experience,  and  not  much  enthusiasm. 
But  I  am  ready  to  try,  if  you  are  willing  to  try  me. 
I  don't  think  I 'm  adapted  to  drunkards.  I  don't 
know  which  of  us  would  be  more  scared.  He 
would  probably  run  for  the  nearest  grogshop  to 
get  rid  of  me.  Are  n't  there  some  old  ladies  who 
bother  you  to  death,  whom  you  could  turn  over  to 
me?  Yours  sincerely, 

HELEN  CARRUTH. 

This  characteristic  note,  the  first  that  he  had 
ever  received  from  her,  reached  Bayard  by  mail,  a 
few  days  after  his  call  at  the  cottage  of  the  Flying 
Jib. 

He  sat  down  and  wrote  at  once :  — 

MY  DEAR  Miss  CARRUTH,  —  There  is  an  old 
lady.  She  does  n't  bother  me  at  all,  but  I  am  at 
my  wits'  end  with  her.  She  runs  away  from  the 
institution  where  she  belongs,  and  there  's  no  other 
place  for  her.  At  present  she  is  inflicting  herself 
on  Mrs.  Job  Slip,  No.  143  Thoroughfare  Street, 
opposite  the  head  of  Angel  Alley.  Her  mind  is 


226  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

thought  to  be  slightly  disordered  by  the  loss  of  her 
son,  drowned  last  winter  in  the  wreck  of  the  Clara 
Em.  Mrs.  Slip  will  explain  the  circumstances  to 
you  more  fully.  Inquire  for  Johnny's  mother.  If 
the  old  woman  ever  had  any  other  name,  people 
have  forgotten  it,  now.  I  write  in  great  haste  and 
stress  of  care.  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  traverse 
Angel  Alley  to  reach  this  address,  which  is  quite 
in  the  heart  of  the  town,  and  perfectly  safe  and 
suitable  for  you.  I  thank  you  very  much. 
Yours  sincerely, 

EMANUEL  BAYARD. 

Helen  frowned  a  little  when  she  read  this.  No 
Bishop  of  a  diocese,  dictating  the  career  of  a 
deaconess,  no  village  rector,  guiding  some  anxious 
and  aimless  visiting  young  lady  through  the  mild 
dissipations  of  parish  benevolence,  could  have 
returned  a  more  business-like,  calm,  even  curt, 
reply. 

The  position  of  a  man  who  may  not  love  a  wo- 
man and  must  not  invite  her  to  marry  him  —  or,  to 
put  it  a  little  differently,  who  must  not  love  and 
cannot  marry  —  is  one  which  it  seems  to  be  asking 
too  much  of  women  to  understand.  .At  all  events 
they  seldom  or  never  do.  The  withdrawals,  the 
feints,  the  veils  and  chills  and  silences,  by  which  a 
woman  in  a  similar  position  protects  herself,  may 
be  as  transparent  as  golden  mist  to  him  whom  she 
evades  ;  but  the  sturdy  retreat  of  a  masculine  con- 
science from  a  too  tender  or  too  tempting  situation 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  227 

is  as  opaque  as  a  gravestone  to  the  feminine  per-   1 
ception. 

Accustomed  to  be  eagerly  wooed,  Helen  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  this  devotee  who  did  not 
urge  himself  even  upon  her  friendship.  She  had 
never  given  any  man  that  treasure  before.  Like 
all  high-minded  women  who  have  not  spent  them-  <! 
selves  in  experiments  of  the  sensibilities,  Helen 
regarded  her  own  friendship  as  valuable.  She 
would  have  preferred  him  to  show,  at  least,  that 
he  appreciated  his  privilege.  She  would  have 
liked  him  to  make  friendship  as  devotedly  as  those 
other  men  had  made  love  to  her. 

His  reserve,  his  distance,  his  apparent  moodi- 
ness,  and  undoubted  ability  to  live  without  seeing 
her  except  when  he  got  ready  to  do  so,  gave  her  a 
perplexed  trouble  more  important  than  pique. 

Without  ado  or  delay,  she  took  the  next  electric 
car  for  Mrs.  Slip's. 

Bayard  received  that  afternoon,  by  the  familiar 
hand  of  Joey  Slip,  this  brief  rejoinder :  — 

DEAR  MR.  BAYARD,  —  This  experienced  boy 
seems  to  be  on  intimate  terms  with  you,  and  offers 
to  take  my  report,  which  stands  thus :  Johnny's 
mother  is  in  the  Widows'  Home.  Shall  I  write 
you  details  ? 

Truly  yours,  H.  C. 

"  Run  on  down  to  the  Mainsail  Hotel,  Joey," 
said  the  minister,  writing  rapidly.  "Find  the 


228  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

lady  —  there  will  be  a  good  many  ladies  —  and 
hand  her  this." 

"  Pooh  ! "  retorted  this  nautical  child  with  a 
superior  air,  "  Vat  ain't  nuffin  !  She  's  good-lookin' 
nuff  to  find  off  Zheorges  in  a  fog-bank." 

Thus  ran  the  note :  — 

DEAR  Miss  CARRUTH,  —  I  will  call  for  the  re- 
port to-morrow.  Thank  you. 

Yours,  E.  B. 

When  Bayard  reached  her  mother's  piazza  the 
next  evening,  Helen  was  in  the  middle  of  the  har- 
bor. 

"  My  daughter  is  considered  a  good  oarswoman, 
I  believe,"  said  the  Professor  with  a  troubled 
look.  "  I  know  nothing  about  these  matters  my- 
self. I  confess  I  wish  I  did.  I  have  not  felt  easy 
about  her  ;  she  has  propelled  the  craft  so  far  into 
the  stream.  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Bay- 
ard !  I  will  put  another  boat  at  your  service  — 
that  is  —  I  suppose  you  understand  the  use  of 
oars?" 

"  Better  than  I  do  Verbal  Inspiration,  Pro- 
fessor !  "  replied  Bayard,  laughing.  ."  She  is  rather 
far  out,  and  the  tide  has  turned." 

He  ran  down  the  pier,  and  leaped  into  the  first 
boat  that  he  could  secure.  It  happened  to  be  a 
dory. 

"  Can  you  overtake  her  ?  "  asked  her  father  with 
a  keen  look. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  229 

"  I  can  try,"  replied  the  young  man,  smiling. 

The  Professor  heaved  a  sigh,  whether  of  relief  or 
of  anxiety  it  would  not  be  easy  to  say,  and  stood 
upon  the  pier  watching  Bayard's  fine  stroke.  Mrs,, 
Carruth  came  clucking  anxiously  down,  and  put  her 
hand  upon  her  husband's  arm.  Bayard  looked  at 
the  two  elderly  people  with  a  strange  affectionate- 
ness  which  he  did  not  analyze ;  feeling,  but  not 
acknowledging,  a  sudden  heart-ache  for  ties  which 
he  had  never  known. 

The  sun  was  sinking,  and  the  harbor  was  a. sea 
of  fire.  A  sea  of  glass  it  was  not,  for  there  was 
some  wind  and  more  tide.  Eeally,  she  should  not 
have  ventured  out  so  far.  He  looked  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  gained  upon  her.  She  had  not 
seen  him,  and  was  drifting  out.  Her  oars  lay 
crossed  upon  her  lap.  Her  eyes  were  on  the  sky, 
which  flung  out  gold  and  violet,  crimson  and  pale 
green  flame,  in  bars  like  the  colors  of  a  mighty 
banner.  The  harbor  took  the  magnificence,  and 
lifted  it  upon  the  hands  of  the  short,  uneasy 
waves. 

The  two  little  boats,  the  pursuing  and  the  pur- 
sued, floated  in  one  of  those  rare  and  unreal 
splendors  which  make  this  world,  for  the  moment, 
seem  a  glorious,  painless  star,  and  the  chance  to 
live  in  it  an  ecstasy. 

By  the  island,  half  a  mile  back,  perhaps,  Jane 
Granite  in  a  dory  rowed  by  the  younger  Trawl, 
silently  watched  the  minister  moving  with  strong 
strokes  across  the  blazing  harbor.  Drifting  out, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

with  beautiful  pose  and  crossed  hands,  was  the 
absorbed,  unconscious  woman  whom  his  racing  oars 
chased  down. 

Between  the  glory  of  the  water  and  the  glory 
of  the  sky,  he  gained  upon  her,  overtook  her^ 
headed  her  off,  and  brought  up  with  a  spurt  beside 
her.  Jane  saw  that  the  minister  laid  his  hand 
imperiously  upon  the  gunwale  of  the  lady's  boat; 
and,  it  seemed,  without  waiting  for  her  consent,  or 
even  lingering  to  ask  for  it,  he  crept  into  the 
cockle-shell,  and  fastened  the  painter  of  his  dory 
to  the  stern.  Now,  between  the  color  of  the  sky 
and  the  color  of  the  sea,  the  two  were  seen  to  float 
for  a  melting  moment  — 

"  Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran." 

"Ben,"  said  Jane,  "  let  us  put  about,  will  you? 
I  'm  a  little  chilly." 

"Ben?"  said  Jane  again,  as  they  rowed  under 
the  dark  shadow  of  the  island.  "Ben?"  with  a 
little  loyal  effort  to  make  conversation  such  as 
lovers  know,  "  did  you  ever  read  a  poem  called 
Kubla  Khan  ?  " 

"  I  hain't  had  time  to  read  sence  I  left  the  gram- 
mar school,"  said  Ben. 

"  What 's  up  with  you,  anyhow  ? "  he  added, 
after  a  moment's  sullen  reflection. 

He  looked  darkly  over  Jane's  head  towards  the 
harbor's  mouth.  At  that  moment  Bayard  was  tying 
the  painter  of  the  dory  to  the  stern  of  the  shell. 
Jane  did  not  look  back.  A  slight  grayness  settled 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  231 

about  her  mouth ;  she  had  the  protruding  mouth 
and  evident  cheek-bones  of  the  consumptive  woman 
of  the  coast. 

"  D him  !  "  said  Ben  Trawl. 

Bayard  had  indeed  crossed  into  Helen's  boat 
without  so  much  as  saying,  By  your  leave.  Her 
eyes  had  a  dangerous  expression,  to  which  he  paid 
no  sort  of  attention. 

"  Did  n't  you  know  better  than  to  take  this 
shell  —  so  far  —  with  the  tide  setting  out?"  he  de- 
manded. "  Give  me  those  oars !  " 

"  I  understand  how  to  manage  a  boat,"  replied 
the  young  lady  coldly.  She  did  not  move. 

"  Give  me  those  oars  !  "  thundered  Bayard. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  gave  them. 

"  Don't  try  to  move,"  he  said  in  a  softer  voice. 
"  It 's  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  upset  these 
toys.  If  you  had  taken  a  respectable  ocean  dory 
—  I  can't  see  why  they  don't  provide  them  at  the 
floats,"  he  complained,  with  the  nervousness  of  an 
uneasy  man.  "  I  can  manage  perfectly  where  I 
am.  Sit  still,  Miss  Carruth  !  " 

She  did  not  look  at  him  this  time,  but  she  sat 
still.  Pie  put  about,  and  rowed  steadily.  For  a 
few  moments  they  did  not  exchange  a  word. 
Helen  had  an  offended  expression.  She  trailed 
her  hand  in  the  water  with  something  like  petu- 
lance. Bayard  did  not  watch  her. 

Captain  Hap  crossed  their  course,  rowing  home 
in  an  old  green  dory  full  of  small  bait  —  pollock 


232  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

and  tinkers.  He  eyed  Bayard's  Harvard  stroke 
with  surprised  admiration.  He  had  seldom  seen  a 
person  row  like  that.  But  he  was  too  old  a  sailor 
to  say  so.  As  the  minister  swerved  dexterously 
to  starboard  to  free  the  painter  of  his  tender  from 
collision  with  the  fisherman,  Captain  Hap  gave 
utterance  to  but  two  words.  These  were :  — 

"  Short  chops !  " 

"  Quite  a  sea,  yes  ! "  called  Bayard  cheerily. 

Captain  Hap  scanned  the  keel-boat,  the  passen- 
ger, and  the  dory  in  tow,  with  discrimination. 

"  Lady  shipwrecked  ?  "  he  yelled,  after  some  re- 
flection. 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Helen,  smiling  in  spite  of 
herself ;  "  captured  by  pirates." 

"  Teach  ye  bet-ter !  "  howled  Captain  Hap. 
44  Had  n't  oughter  set  out  in  short  cho-ops  !  Had  n't 
oughter  set  out  in  a  craft  like  that  nohow !  They 
palm  off  them  eggshells  on  boarders  for  bo-o- 
oats  I " 

Helen  laughed  outright ;  her  eyes  met  Bayard's 
merrily,  and,  if  he  had  dared  to  think  so,  rather 
humbly. 

"  I  was-  very  angry  with  you,"  she  said. 

"I  can't  help  that,"  replied  Bayard.  "Your 
father  and  mother  were  very  anxious  about  you." 

"Really?" 

"  Naturally.  I  was  a  chartered  pirate,  at  any 
rate." 

"  But  I  was  in  no  sort  of  danger,  you  know. 
You  Ve  made  a  great  fuss  over  nothing." 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  233 

"  Take  these  oars,"  observed  Bayard.  "  Just  let 
me  see  you  row  back  to  the  float." 

Helen  took  the  oars,  and  pulled  a  few  strokes 
strongly  enough.  The  veins  stood  out  on  her  soft 
forehead,  and  her  breath  came  hard. 

"  I  had  no  idea  the  tide  was  so  strong  to-night 
The  wind  seems  to  be  the  wrong  way,  too,"  she 
panted. 

"  It  was  blowing  you  straight  out  to  sea,"  ob- 
served Bayard  quietly. 

"  Shall  I  take  the  oars  ?  "  he  added. 

She  pulled  on  doggedly  for  a  few  moments. 
Suddenly  she  flung  them  down. 

"  Why,  we  are  not  making  any  headway  at  all ! 
We  are  twisting  about,  and  —  going  out  again." 

"  Certainly." 

"  It  is  that  heavy  dory !  You  can't  expect  me 
to  row  two  boats  at  once. 

"  The  dory  does  make  some  difference.  But 
very  little.  See  —  she  does  n't  draw  a  teaspoonful 
of  water.  Shall  I  take  the  oars?  " 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Helen  meekly. 

She  gave  them  up  without  looking  at  him,  and 
she  was  a  trifle  pale  from  her  exertion.  Her  hat 
was  off,  and  the  wind  made  rich  havoc  of  her  pretty 
hair.  She  was  splashed  with  spray,  and  her  boat- 
ing-dress was  quite  wet.  Bayard  watched  her.  The 
sun  dropped,  and  the  color  on  the  harbor  began  to 
fade. 

"  I  suppose  you  came  for  the  report  ?  "  she  asked 
suddenly.  "  I  stayed  in  all  the  afternoon.  I 


234  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

couldn't  be  expected  to  wait  indefinitely,  you 
know ! " 

"  I  could  not  possibly  set  the  hour.  I  am  much 
overworked.  I  should  beg  your  pardon,"  said 
Bayard  in  his  gentlest  way. 

"  You  are  overworked,"  answered  Helen,  in  her 
candid  voice.  "  And  I  am  an  idle,  useless  woman. 
It  would  n't  have  hurt  me  a  bit  to  wait  your 
leisure.  But  I  'm  not  —  .  .  you  see  .  .  I  'in  not 
used  to  it." 

"  I  must  remind  you  again,  that  I  no  longer 
move  in  good  society,"  said  Bayard,  looking  straight 
at  her.  "  You  must  extend  to  me  as  much  toler- 
ance as  you  do  to  other  working  men." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Helen  ;  "  we  always  wait  a 
week  for  a  carpenter,  and  ten  days  for  the  plumb- 
ers. Anyhow,  Johnny's  mother  is  in  the  Widows' 
Home.  She  's  as  snug  as  a  clam  in  a  shell.  She 
says  she  won't  run  away  again  till  I  've  been  to 
see  her." 

"  How  in  the  world  did  you  manage  ?  "  asked 
Bayard  admiringly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  just  know,"  replied  Helen,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  behind  her  head ;  "  I  made  myself 
lovely,  that 's  all." 

"  That  might  be  enough,  I  should  fancy,"  ven- 
tured the  young  man  under  his  breath. 

"  I  took  her  shopping,"  said  Helen. 

"  Took  her  shopping  !  " 

"Why,  3^es.  She  wanted  to  buy  some  mourn- 
ing. She  said  Johnny's  father  had  been  dead  so 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  235 

long,  her  black  was  all  worn  out.  She  wanted 
fresh  crape.  So  I  took  her  round  £he  stores,  and 
got  her  some." 

"  Bought  her  crape  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  got  her  a  crape  veil  —  oh,  and  a  bon- 
net. She  's  the  happiest  mourner  you  ever  saw. 
She  went  back  to  the  Widows'  Home  like  a  spring 
lamb.  She  wore  a  chocolate  calico  dress  with  red 
spots  on  it,  and  this  crape  veil.  You  can't  think  how 
she  looked  !  But  she  's  perfectly  contented.  She  '11 
stay  awhile  now.  She  says  they  would  n't  give  her 
any  mourning  at  the  Home.  She  said  that  was  all 
she  had  4  agin'  'em.'  " 

"  Oh,  these  widows !  "  groaned  Bayard.  "  We 
got  two  starving  women  in  there  by  the  hardest 
work,  last  spring,  and  one  left  in  a  week.  She 
said  it  was  too  lonesome ;  she  wanted  to  live  with 
folks.  The  other  one  said  it  4  depressed '  her.  A 
Winclover  widow  is  a  problem  in  sociology." 

"  Johnny's  mother  is  the  other  kind  of  woman ; 
I  can  see  that,"  replied  Helen.  "  She  sits  by  her- 
self, and  puts  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  does  n't 
even  cry.  But  she  takes  it  out  in  crape.  You 
can't  think  how  happy  she  is  in  that  veil." 

"  Your  political  economy  is  horrible,"  laughed 
Bayard,  "  but  your  heart  is  as  warm  as  "  — 

"  I  saw  Mari  and  Joey,"  interrupted  Helen, 
es  and  Job  Slip.  I  stayed  two  hours.  Job  was  as 
sober  as  you  are.  They  invited  me  to  dinner.  I 
suppose  they  were  thankful  to  be  rid  of  that  poor 
old  lady." 


236  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Did  you  stay  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did.  We  had  pork  gravy,  and 
potatoes  —  oh,  and  fried  cunners.  I  sat  beside 
Joey.  I  believe  that  child  is  as  old  as  She. 
He  's  a  reincarnation  of  some  drowned  ancestor 
who  went  fishing  ages  ago,  and  never  came  backs 
Did  you  ever  notice  his  resemblance  to  a  mack= 
erel?" 

"I  had  n't  thought  of  it  in  that  light.  I  see 
now  what  it  was.  It  takes  you  to  discover  it !  " 

"  Johnny's  mother  loolis  like  a  cod,  poor  thing !  " 
continued  Helen.  "  I  don't  wonder.  I  should  think 
she  would.  1  'm  sure  I  should  in  her  place." 

"  You  are  incorrigible  !  "  said  Bayard,  laughing 
in  spite  of  himself.  "  And  yet  —  you  Ve  done  a 
better  morning's  work  than  anybody  in  Windover 
has  done  here  for  a  month  !  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  take  tea  with  Johnny's  mother 
next  week,"  observed  Helen  —  "  at  the  Widows' 
Home,  you  know.  But  I  've  promised  to  take 
Joey  to  the  circus  first." 

"  You  are  perfectly  refreshing  !  "  sighed  Bayard 
delightedly. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,"  said  Helen,  with  a  change  of 
manner  as  marked  yet  as  subtle  as  the  motion  of 
the  wave  that  fell  to  make  way  for  the  next, 
against  the  bobbing  bows  of  the  empty  dory,  "  I 
had  a  long  talk  with  Job  Slip." 

"  You  say  you  found  him  sober  ?  " 

"  As  sober  as  a  Cesarea  trustee.  But  the  way 
that  man  feels  to  you  is  something  you  have  n't 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  237 

an  idea  of.  I  thought  of  that  verse,  you  know, 
about  love  'passing  the  love  of  women.'  It  is 
infatuation.  It  is  worship.  It  is  enough  to  choke 
you.  Why,  I  cried  when  I  heard  him  talk! 
And  I  don't  cry,  you  know,  very  often.  And 
I  'm  not  ashamed  to  own  it,  either.  It  made 
me  feel  ashamed  to  be  alive  —  in  such  a  world 
—  why,  Mr.  Bayard  !  "  Helen  unclasped  her 
hands  from  the  back  of  her  head,  and  thrust 
them  out  towards  him,  as  if  they  were  an  argu- 
ment. 

"Why,  I  thought  this  earth  was  a  pleasant 
place!  I  thought  life  was  a  delightful  thing! 
...  If  the  rest  of  it  is  like  this  town  —  Windover 
is  a  world  of  woe,  and  you  are  one  of  the  sons  of 
God  to  these  unhappy  people  !  " 

She  said  this  solemnly,  more  solemnly  than  he 
had  ever  heard  her  say  anything  before.  He  laid 
down  his  oars,  and  took  off  his  hat.  He  could  not 
answer,  and  he  did  not  try. 

She  saw  how  much  moved  he  was,  and  she 
made  a  little  gesture,  as  if  she  tossed  something 
that  weighed  heavily,  away. 

"  You  see,"  she  interposed,  "  I  've  never  done 
this  kind  of  thing.  I  'm  not  a  good  Professor's 
daughter.  I  did  n't  like  it.  I  went  through  an 
attack  of  the  missionary  spirit  when  I  was  fifteen, 
and  had  a  Sunday-school  class  —  ten  big  boys  ; 
all  red,  and  eight  of  them  freckled.  We  were 
naming  classes  one  Sunday,  and  my  boys  whistled 
'  Yankee  Doodle  '  when  the  superintendent 


238  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

prayed,  and  then  asked  if  they  might  be  called 
the  lilies  of  the  valley.  I  told  them  they  were  n't 
fit  to  be  called  red  sorrel.  So  after  that  I  gave 
them  up.  I  Ve  never  tried  it  since.  I  'm  of  no 
more  use  in  the  world  —  in  this  awful  world  — 
than  the  artificial  pansies  on  my  hat." 

Helen  picked  up  her  straw  hat  from  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  and  tied  it  on  her  head,  with  a  little 
sound  that  was  neither  a  laugh  nor  a  sigh. 

It  was  growing  dark,  fast.  They  were  nearly 
at  the  float,  now.  Bayard  laid  down  his  oars. 
The  headlights  were  leaping  out  all  over  the  har- 
bor. The  wind  had  gone  down  with  the  sun. 
Boats  crept  in  like  tired  people,  through  the  sud- 
den calm,  to  anchor  for  the  night.  The  even- 
ing steamer  came  in  from  the  city,  and  the  long 
waves  of  her  wake  rolled  upon  the  beach,  and 
tossed  the  little  boats.  The  sea  drew  a  few  long, 
deep  breaths. 

"  The  trouble  with  me,  you  see,"  said  Helen,  "  is 
just  what  I  told  you.  I  am  not  spiritual." 

"  You  are  something  better  —  you  are  altogether 
womanly !  "  said  the  young  preacher  quickly. 

He  seized  his  oars,  and  rowed  in,  as  if  they  were 
shipwrecked.  The  old  clam-digger  was  hauling 
his  lobster-pots  straight  across  their  course.  As 
Bayard  veered  to  avoid  him,  he  could  be  heard 
singing :  — 

"  The  woman  's  ashore, 
The  child  's  at  the  door, 
The  man  's  at  the  wheel. 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  239 

"  Storm  on  the  track, 
Fog  at  the  back, 
Death  at  the  keel. 

"  You,  mate,  or  me  — 
Which  shall  it  be?"  — 

The  old  clam-digger  stopped,  when  he  saw  the 
lady  in  the  boat.  It  was  now  quite  dark.  Bayard 
and  Helen  were  the  last  people  to  land  at  the 
float.  He  gave  her  his  hand  in  silence.  She 
stood  by,  while  he  helped  the  keeper  of  the  float 
up  with  the  two  boats.  He  cougned  a  little  as  he 
did  so,  and  she  said,  rather  sharply :  — 

"  Tim  !  you  should  keep  two  men  here,  to  do 
that  work." 

Tim  apologized,  grumbling,  and  the  two  walked 
on  up  the  pier  together ;  still  alone.  At  the 
door  of  the  cottage,  she  asked  him,  rather  timidly, 
if  he  would  come  in.  But  he  excused  himself, 
and  hurried  away. 

When  he  found  himself  far  from  the  hotel, 
and  well  on  the  way  to  his  lodgings,  Bayard  drew 
the  long  breath  of  a  man  who  is  escaping  danger. 
He  experienced  a  kind  of  ecstatic  terror.  He 
thought  of  her  —  he  thought  of  her  till  he  could 
think  no  more,  but  fell  into  an  ocean  of  feeling, 
tossing  and  deep.  It  seemed  to  have  no  sound- 
ings. He  drowned  himself  in  it  with  a  perilous 
delight. 

What  would  a  lonely  fate  be,  if  a  woman  capa- 
jble  of  understanding  the  highest,  and  serving  it, 
I  capacious  for  tenderness,  and  yielding  it,  a  woman 


240  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

warm,  human,  sweet,  and  as  true  as  one's  belief  in 
her,  should  pour  the  precious  current  of  her  love 
into  a  long  life's  work  ?  Why,  a  man  would  be 
a  god!  He  would  climb  the  inaccessible.  He 
would  achieve  the  undreamed  and  the  unknown. 
He  would  not  know  where  consecration  ended, 
and  where  heaven  began. 

"  He  would  be  a  freer  man  than  I  am,"  thought^ 
Bayard,  as  he  passed,  between  the  larkspurs  and 
the  feverfew,  up  Mrs.  Granite's  garden. 

Mrs.  Granite  met  him  at  the  door ;  she  held  a 
kerosene  lamp  high  in  one  hand  ;  with  the  other 
she  handed  to  him  a  soiled  and  crumpled  bit  of 
paper. 

"  A  boy  left  it  here,  sir,  not  ten  minutes  ago, 
and  he  said  you  was  to  read  it  as  soon  as  you  came 
home.  I  don't  know  the  boy.  I  never  saw  him 
before,  but  it  seemed  to  be  something  quite  partik- 
kelar." 

Bayard  held  the  message  to  the  lamp  and 
read :  — 

A  pore  man  in  distres  would  take  it  kindly  of 
the  minester  to  mete  him  as  sune  as  possibel  to- 
nite  to  Ragged  Rock,  i  am  a  miserbul  Dmnkhard 

OO 

and  i  want  to  Knock  Off.  i  heer  when  folks  talk 
with  you  they  stop  Drinkin.  i  wish  youde  talk  to 
me  so  I  would  stop 

Yours 

JACK  HADDOCK. 


XVI. 

BAYARD  re-read  this  message  thoughtfully.  He 
could  hardly  have  told  why  it  perplexed  him.  Up 
and  down  the  shores  and  streets  of  Windover  no 
cry  of  misery  or  of  guilt  had  ever  yet  lifted  itself  to 
him  in  vain.  Such  appeals  were  common  enough. 
Often  it  would  happen  that  a  stranger  would  stop 
him  in  the  street,  and  use  much  the  same  nai've 
language :  "  I  hear  when  you  talk  to  folks  they 
stop  drinking.  I  wish  you  'd  talk  to  me."  Con- 
trary to  his  custom  in  such  matters,  he  showed  this 
slip  of  paper  to  Mrs.  Granite. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,  sir,"  she  said,  with  that  prompt 
feminine  fear  which  sometimes  takes  the  place  of 
reliable  good  sense,  "  don't  you  go  a  step !  " 

Bayard  did  not  reply.  He  turned  away  musing, 
and  paced  up  and  down  between  the  larkspurs. 
True,  the  place  was  lonely,  and  the  hour  late. 
But  the  vagaries  of  disgraced  men  are  many,  and 
nothing  was  more  possible  than  that  some  fisher- 
man, not  wholly  sober,  and  not  half  drunk,  should 
take  it  into  his  befuddled  brain  that  an  interview 
with  the  minister  located  at  a  safe  distance  from 
nagging  wife,  crying  child,  or  jeering  messmate, 
or,  let  us  say,  far  removed  from  the  jaws  of 
Trawl's  door,  should  work  the  magic  or  the  mira- 


242  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

cle  for  which  the  morally  defective  are  always 
waiting. 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  comply  with 
this  request,"  he  said  decidedly. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,  sir,"  urged  Mrs.  Granite,  "  it 's 
a  thing  I  don't  like  to  be  her  who  tells  you,  but 
it's  time  somebody  did.  There's  them  in  this 
town  would  n't  stop  at  nothing,  they  have  that 
feeling  to  you." 

"  To  me  ?  "  cried  Bayard,  opening  his  hazel  eyes 
as  wide  as  a  child's. 

"  Rum  done  it,"  stammered  Mrs.  Granite,  in- 
stinctively using  the  three  familiar  words  which 
most  concisely  covered  the  ground.  "  It 's  your 
temperance  principles.  They  ain't  pop'lar.  They 
affect  your  standing  in  this  community." 

This  was  the  accepted  phrase  in  Windover  for 
all  such  cases  made  and  provided.  It  was  under- 
stood to  contain  the  acme  of  personal  peril  or  dis- 
grace. To  talk  to  a  man  about  "your  standing 
in  this  community"  was  equivalent  to  an  insult 
or  a  scandal.  Poor  Mrs.  Granite,  an  affection- 
ate and  helpless  parrot,  reechoed  this  terrible 
language,  and  trembled.  She  felt  as  if  she  had 
said  to  the  minister,  Your  social  ruin  is  complete 
for  all  time,  throughout  the  civilized  world. 

"  Not  that  it  makes  any  difference  to  ?/s,"  sobbed 
Mrs.  Granite  ;  "  we  set  just  as  much  by  yon.  But 
your  standing  is  affected  in  this  community. 
There  *s  them  that  hates  you,  sir,  more  shame  to 
'em,  more'n  the  Old  Boy  himself.  Mr.  Bayard, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  243 

Mr.  Bayard,  don't  you  go  to  Ragged  Rock  alone, 
sir,  this  time  o'  night  to  meet  no  torn-fool  of  a  drunk- 
ard anxious  about  his  soul.  He  don't  own  such  a 
thing  to  his  name !  All  he  's  got  is  a  rum-soaked 
sponge,  he  's  mopped  up  whiskey  with  all  his  born 
days !  " 

"  Your  drinks  (if  not  your  metaphors)  are  get- 
ting a  little  mixed,  dear  Mrs.  Granite,"  laughed 
Bayard. 

"  Sir  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Granite. 

"  But  still  I  must  say,  there  is  some  sense  in 
your  view  of  the  case  —  Ah,  here  's  Jane ;  and 
Ben  with  her.  We  '11  put  the  case  to  —  No.  I 
have  it.  Mrs.  Granite,  to  please  you,  I  will  take 
Ben  Trawl  along  with  me.  Will  that  set  you  at 
rest? —  Here,  Trawl.  Just  read  this  message, 
will  you  ?  Something  about  it  looks  a  little  queer, 
and  Mrs.  Granite  is  so  kind  as  to  worry  about  me. 
What  do  you  make  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  've  got  home  so  soon,  have  you  ?  "  said 
Trawl  rather  sullenly. 

In  the  evening  his  eyebrows  met  more  heavily 
than  ever  across  his  forehead  ;  they  looked  as  if 
they  had  been  corked  for  some  ugly  masquerade. 
He  glanced  from  under  them,  coldly,  at  the  minis- 
ter ;  read  the  note,  and  was  about  to  tear  it  into 
strips. 

"  I  '11  take  it,  thank  you,"  said  Bayard  quietly, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,"  said  Jane,  who  had  not  spoken 
before,  u  I  hope  you  will  pay  no  attention  to  this 
message." 


244  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

She  spoke  in  a  voice  so  low  as  to  be  almost  inar- 
ticulate. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  go  with  him,  if  he  's  afraid,"  said 
Trawl,  with  that  accent  which  falls  just  so  far  short 
of  a  sneer  that  a  man  may  not  decently  notice  it. 

"  I  incline  to  think  it  is  wise  to  take  a  witness 
to  this  adventure,"  replied  Bayard  serenely.  "But 
I  need  not  trouble  you,  Mr.  Trawl.  Pray  don't 
exert  yourself  to  oblige  me." 

"  It 's  no  exertion,"  said  Ben,  with  a  change  of 
tone.  "  Come  along  !  " 

He  strode  out  into  the  street  and  Bayard,  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  did  the  same,  shutting  the 
garden  gate  behind  him.  Jane  Granite  opened 
it,  and  followed  them  for  a  little  way ;  she  seemed 
perplexed  and  distressed ;  she  did  not  speak,  but 
trotted  silently,  like  a  dog,  in  the  dark. 

"  Go  back  !  "  said  Trawl,  stopping  short.  Jane 
slunk  against  a  fence,  and  stopped. 

"  Go  back,  I  say  !  "  cried  Trawl. 

"It  is  natural  that  she  should  want  to  come. 
She  feels  anxious  about  you,"  observed  Bayard 
kindly. 

"  Go  back  to  your  mother,  and  stay  there !  " 
commanded  Trawl,  stamping  his  foot. 

Jane  turned  and  obeyed,  and  vanished.  The 
two  men  walked  on  in  silence.  They  came  quickly 
through  the  village  and  down  the  Point,  turning 
thence  to  cross  the  downs  that  raised  their  round 
shoulders,  an  irregular  gray  outline  against  the 
sky.  Bayard  glanced  back.  It  looked  black  and 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  245 

desolate  enough  ahead  of  him.  Below  and  behind 
him  the  life  of  the  summer-seekers  stirred  softly, 
like  the  figures  in  a  gay  game,  or  old-fashioned 
walking-dance.  The  hotels  blazed  cheerfully  ;  the 
piazzas  were  full  and  merry ;  in  the  parlors  people 
were  playing  and  singing.  He  could  not  see  the 
lights  of  the  Flying  Jib  from  where  he  stood ;  this 
disappointed  him,  and  he  walked  on.  The  music 
from  the  Mainsail  piano  followed  him.  There  was 
a  parlor  concert  —  a  woman's  voice  —  a  soprano 
solo  —  ah  !  The  great  serenade ! 

"  Komm,  begliicke  mich  !  " 

The  strain  seemed  to  chase  him,  like  a  cry,  like 
an  entreaty,  almost  like  a  sob.  His  heart  leaped, 
as  if  soft  arms  had  been  thrown  around  him.  He 
stopped  and  listened,  till  the  song  had  ceased. 

"  That  is  good  music,"  he  said  aloud,  not  know- 
ing what  he  said,  but  oppressed  by  the  dogged 
silence  which  his  escort  maintained. 

"  Good  enough,"  said  Ben  roughly.  The  two 
walked  on,  and  neither  said  anything  more.  It 
was  now  quite  dark  and  still  around  them.  The 
rough,  broken  surface  of  the  rocky  downs  made 
traveling  difficult;  but  both  men  were  familiar 
with  the  way,  and  lost  no  time  upon  it.  The  sky 
was  cloudy,  and  the  sea  was  dark.  The  ebbing 
tide  met  the  deserted  beach  with  a  sigh.  The 
headlights  in  the  harbor  looked  far  off,  and  of  the 
town  not  a  glimmer  could  be  seen.  Ben  strode  on 
in  sullen  silence.  Bayard  watched  him  with  some 


246  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

discomfort,  but  nothing  like  a  sensation  of  fear  had 
yet  reached  his  nerves. 

"  This  fellow  chose  a  lonely  place  for  a  pastoral 
visit,"  he  observed  at  length,  as  they  approached 
the  little  beach  made  memorable  by  the  wreck  of 
the  Clara  Em. 

"  Wanted  to  stump  you,"  said  Ben,  with  an  un- 
pleasant laugh.  "  Wanted  to  dare  you,  you  know 
—  to  see  if  you  'd  show  game.  It 's  a  way  they 
have,  these  toughs  who  meddle  with  parsons.  They 
like  to  make  out  a  big  story,  and  tell  it  round  the 
saloons.  Probably  the  whole  thing 's  a  put-up 
job." 

"That  is  more  than  possible,  of  course.  But 
I  'd  rather  investigate  three  put-up  jobs  than  neg- 
lect one  real  need  of  one  miserable  man.  That  is 
my  business,  you  see,  Ben.  Yours  is  to  ruin 
people.  Mine  is  to  save  them.  We  each  attend 
to  our  own  affairs,  that 's  all." 

"  D you  ! "  cried  Ben,  suddenly  facing  about. 

"  That 's  just  it !  You  don't  attend  to  your  own 
affairs  !  You  meddle  with  mine,  and  that 's  what 's 
the  matter !  I  '11  teach  you  to  mind  your  own 
business !  " 

Before  Bayard  could  cry  out  or  move,  he  felt  the 
other's  hands  at  his  throat. 


xvn. 

BAYARD  stood  so  still  —  with  the  composure  of 
a  man  not  without  athletic  training,  determined  to 
waste  no  strength  in  useless  struggle  —  that  Trawl 
instinctively  loosened  his  clutch.  Was  the  minis- 
ter strangling?  This  was  not  Ben's  immediate 
purpose.  His  fingers  relaxed. 

"Ah,"  said  Bayard  quietly,  "so  you  are  Jack 
Haddock." 

"  I  wrote  that  note.  You  might  have  known  it 
if  you  hadn't  been  a fool." 

"  I  might  have  known  it  —  yes ;  I  see.  But  I 
took  you  for  a  .decent  fellow.  I  could  n't  be  ex- 
pected  to  suspect  you  were  —  what  you  are.  Well, 
Mr.  Trawl,  perhaps  you  will  explain  your  business 
with  me  in  some  less  uncomfortable  manner." 

He  shook  Ben  off  with  a  strong  thrust,  and 
folded  his  arms. 

"  Come,"  he  said.     "  Out  with  it !  " 

"My  game's  up,"  replied  Ben  between  his 
teeth.  "  I  can't  do  what  I  set  out  to,  now.  There 's 
too  many  witnesses  in  the  case." 

"  You  meant  to  push  me  off  Ragged  Rock,  per- 
haps ?  "  asked  Bayard  quietly.  "  I  had  n't  thought 
of  that.  But  I  see  —  it  would  not  have  been  diffi- 
cult. A  man  can  be  taken  unawares  in  the  dark, 
and  as  you  say,  there  would  have  been  no  wit- 
nesses." 


248  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  You  come  home  too  soon,"  growled  Ben.  "  I 
counted  on  getting  away  and  bein'  here  to  welcome 

you,  and  nobody  the  wiser ;  d them  two  women ! 

I  supposed  you  'd  stay  awhile  with  your  girl.  A 
man  would,  in  our  kind  of  folks.  Lord  !  you  don't 
seem  to  belong  to  any  kind  of  folks  that  I  can  see 

I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you.  you ) 

you !  you !  I  'd  like  to  see  you  go  yellin' 

and  bub — ble — in'  down  to  your  drownin' !  I  'm 
heavier  'n  you  be,  come  to  the  tug.  I  could  do  it 
now,  inside  of  ten  minutes." 

"And  hang  for  it  in  ten  months,"  observed 
Bayard,  smiling. 

"  I  could  get  a  dozen  men  to  swear  to  an  alibi !  " 
cried  Trawl.  "  You  ain't  so  popular  in  this  town 
as  to  make  that  a  hard  job.  You  've  got  the  whole 
liquor  interest  ag'in'  you.  Lord  !  the  churches 
would  back  'em,  too,  that 's  the  joke  of  it !  " 

He  laughed  savagely. 

Bayard  made  no  reply.  He  had  winced  in  the 
dark  at  the  words.  They  were  worse  than  the 
grip  at  his  throat. 

"  When  you  get  ready,  Ben,  suppose  you  ex- 
plain what  you  have  against  me  ? "  he  suggested, 
after  an  uncomfortable  pause. 

"  You  Ve  took  my  girl !  "  roared  Ben. 

"  Your  girl  ?    Your  girl  ?  " 

Bayard  gasped,  from  the  sheer  intellectual  shock 
of  the  idea. 

"  You  Ve  made  love  to  her,  behind  my  back ! 
You  Ve  turned  her  head !  She  ain't  no  eyes  left 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  249 

in  her  for  anybody  but  you, you !  And  I  've 

ben  keepin'  company  with  her  for  four  years. 
You  've  got  my  girl  away  from  me,  and  you  'd 
oughter  drown  for  it.  Drownin'  's  too  good  for 
you !  " 

"  Look  here,  Ben,"  said  Bayard.  "  Are  you 
drunk  ?  " 

"We  don't  drink  —  me,  nor  my  father.  And 
you  know  it.  We  ain't  such fools  !  " 

"  It  is  a  waste  of  the  English  language  to  add," 
observed  the  preacher,  with  an  accession  of  his 
natural  dignity,  which  was  not  without  its  effect 
upon  Ben  Trawl,  "  that  I  have  never  regarded  Miss 
Granite  —  for  a  moment  —  in  the  extraordinary 
light  which  you  suggest.  It  seems  to  me  unneces- 
sary to  point  out  to  you  the  unnaturalness  —  I 
may  be  frank,  and  say  the  impossibility  —  of  such 
a  supposition." 

" you  !  "  raved  Ben,  "  ain't  she  good  enough 

for  you,  then?" 

"Ben  Trawl,"  said  the  minister  imperiously, 
"  this  nonsense  has  gone  far  enough.  If  you  have 
nothing  more  reasonable  to  say  to  me,  we  may  as 
well  stop  talking,  for  I  'm  going  home.  If  you 
have,  I  '11  stay  and  hear  it  out." 

Bayard  calmly  seated  himself  upon  the  base  of 
Ragged  Rock,  and  took  off  his  hat. 

"  What  a  warm,  pleasant  night  it  is ! "  he  said 
in  a  tone  so  changed  that  Ben  Trawl  stared. 

"  Plucky,  anyhow,"  thought  Ben.  But  he  said  °. 
46  I  ain't  got  half  through  yet.  I  've  got  another 


250  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

score  ag'in'  you.  You  've  took  the  girl,  and  now 
you  're  takin'  the  business." 

"  Ah,"  replied  the  preacher  ;  "  that 's  another 
matter." 

"  You  own  up  to  it,  do  you  ?     you !  " 

"Assuredly,"  answered  Bayard.  "I  am  doing 
my  best  to  ruin  your  business.  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  hear  you  admit  it.  It  has  gone  further  than  I 
supposed." 

"  It  has  gone  further 'n  you  suppose!"  echoed 
Ben  malignantly,  "  and  it  will  go  further  'n  you  sup- 
pose !  Me  and  Father  have  stood  it  long  enough. 
There 's  them  that  backs  us  that  you  never  give  one 
of  your holy  thoughts  to.  I  give  you  warn- 
ing on  the  spot,  Mr.  Bayard.  You  stop  just  where 
you  be.  Meddle  with  our  business  one  inch  fur- 
ther, and  you'll  hear  from  the  whole  liquor 
interest  of  Windover.  We  '11  blow  you  into  eter- 
nity if  you  don't  let  us  alone." 

"  I  should  count  that,"  replied  the  preacher 
gently,  "  the  greatest  honor  of  my  life." 

"Anyhow,"  said  Ben  in  a  calmer  tone,  "if  you 
don't  let  our  business  be,  we  '11  ruin  yourn." 

"  That  is  quite  possible,"  returned  Bayard ; 
66  but  it  won't  be  without  a  big  tussle." 

"  You  don't  believe  me,"  sneered  Ben ;  "  you 
think  we  ain't  up  to  it." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  Ben,"  asked  the  preacher 
quietly,  "  that  an  educated  man  would  deliberately 
choose  the  course  that  I  have  chosen  to  pursue 
in  this  town  without  informing  himself  on  all 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  251 

branches  of  the  subject  that  he  is  handling?  Do 
you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  the  liquor  interest 
is  capable  of  when  attacked  by  Christian  temper- 
ance ?  There  has  n't  been  an  outrage,  a  persecu- 
tion, a  crime,  —  no,  not  a  murder  committed  in 
the  name  of  rum  and  the  devil  against  the  cause 
of  decency  and  sobriety  in  this  country  for  years, 
that  I  have  n't  traced  its  history  out,  and  kept  the 
record  of  it.  Come  up  to  my  study,  and  see  the 
correspondence  and  clippings  I  have  collected  on 
this  matter.  There  are  two  shelves  full,  Ben." 

"  Lord  !  "  said  Ben.  His  jaw  dropped  a  little. 
He  felt  the  inferiority  of  the  ignorant  man  before 
education,  the  weakness  of  moral  debility  before 
moral  vigor.  He  turned  and  took  a  few  steps 
towards  the  town.  The  minister  followed  him 
amiably,  and  the  two  strode  on  in  silence. 

"  He  don't  scare  worth  a  cent,"  thought  Ben. 
Aloud  he  said  :  — 

"  So  you  're  goin'  to  fight  us,  be  you  ?  " 

"  Till  I  die,"  answered  Bayard  solemnly  ;  "  and 
if  I  die !  " 

"  You  won't  take  no  warnin'  then?  "  asked  Ben 
with  a  puzzled  air. 

"  Neither  from  you,  Ben,  nor  from  any  other 
man." 

64  The  worse  for  you,  then !  "  returned  Ben  in 
an  ugly  tone. 

44 1  '11  risk  it,"  replied  Bayard  serenely. 

44  There  's  them  that  says  you  're  goin'  to  fight 
it  out  at  the  polls,"  said  Ben,  more  sullenly  now 


252  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

than  savagely.  "  Folks  says  you  're  goin'  to  get 
away  Father's  license." 

"  I  had  n't  thought  of  it  tiU  this  minute  I  " 
exclaimed  the  preacher.  ll  But  it  would  be  a  good 
idea." 

Ben  made  an  inarticulate  noise  in  his  throat 
Bayard  instinctively  thrust  out  his  elbow :  he 
thought  for  the  moment  that  Ben  would  spring 
upon  him  out  of  sheer  rage.  They  were  out  on 
the  open  downs,  now ;  but  still  only  the  witness 
of  the  sky  and  sea  and  rocks  remained  to  help  him. 

"Look  here,"  said  Ben,  suddenly  stopping. 
"  Are  you  going  to  tell  of  me  ?  " 

"  That  you  were  so  uncivil  as  to  put  your  hands 
on  my  throat,  Ben  ? —  I  have  n't  decided." 

"  Not  that  /care  a !  "  muttered  Ben.  "  But 

Jane"  — 

"  I  shall  never  mention  any  circumstance  of 
this  —  rather  unpleasant  evening  —  which  would 
bring  Miss  Granite's  name  into  publicity,"  replied 
the  preacher  quickly.  "  She  is  a  good,  modest 
girl.  She  should  be  sheltered  and  cared  for.  You 
might  better  toss  a  woman  off  Ragged  Rock  —  as 
you  intended  to  do  by  me  —  than  to  turn  the  gos- 
sip of  Windover  loose  upon  her." 

"It  is  a  hell  of  a  town,  if  you  come  to  that,'5 
said  Ben  with  calm  conviction. 

"  She  is  much  too  good  for  you,  Ben  Trawl,'1 
remarked  Bayard  quite  politely,  as  if  he  were 
offering  the  other  a  glass  of  lemonade. 

"  Lord !  "  groaned  Ben,  writhing  under  the  min- 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  253 

ister's  manner.  "  Don't  you  suppose  that 's  the 
worst  on  't  ?  " 

"  I  think  1 11  cut  across  here  towards  the  hotel," 
observed  Bayard  pleasantly.  "  We  seem  to  have 
talked  out,  for  this  time.  Good-night,  Ben." 

"  Say,"  said  Ben,  "  why  don't  you  spout  temper^ 
ance  to  me?  Why  ain't  you  talked  religion? 
Why  ain't  you  set  out  to  convert  me  ?  I  give  you 
chance  enough  ! " 

"You  are  an  intelligent  man,"  replied  the 
preacher ;  "  you  know  what  you  are  about.  I 
don't  waste  sacred  powder  on  useless  shot." 

"  Queer  Dick,  you,"  mused  Ben.  "  It 's  just  as 
I  said.  You  don't  belong  to  any  kind  of  folks  I 
ever  see  before.  I  can't  make  you  out." 

"  Next  time  you  want  to  murder  me,  Ben," 
called  the  minister  cheerily,  "  don't  try  anony- 
mous traps !  Show  up  like  a  man,  and  have  it  out 
in  the  open  air  !  " 

He  walked  on  towards  the  beach.  Ben  watched 
him  for  a  perplexed  and  sullen  moment,  then  took 
his  course  thoughtfully  in  the  direction  of  the  town. 

When  the  two  men  had  disappeared  from  the 
dark  map  of  the  downs,  a  woman's  figure  swiftly 
and  quietly  crossed  it.  Jane  Granite  had  followed 
the  minister  like  the  spaniel  that  she  was,  and, 
hidden  in  the  shadows  of  Ragged  Rock,  thinking 
to  save  him,  God  knew  how,  from  Heaven  knew 
what  fate,  had  overheard  the  interview  from  begin- 
ning to  end. 


xvni. 

A  FIERY  July  was  followed  by  a  scorching  Au- 
gust, There  was  a  long  drought,  and  simooms  of 
fine,  irritating  dust.  The  gasping  town  and  inland 
country  flocked  to  the  coast  in  more  than  the  usual 
force.  The  hotels  brimmed  over.  Even  Windover 
fanned  herself,  and  lay  in  hammocks  lazily,  watch- 
ing for  the  two  o'clock  east  wind  to  stir  the  top- 
sails of  the  schooners  trying  under  full  canvas  to 
crawl  around  the  Point.  In  Angel  Alley  the  heat 
was  something  unprecedented  ;  and  the  devil  shook 
hands  with  discomfort  as  he  is  fain  to,  and  made 
new  comrades. 

Bayard  was  heavily  overworked.  He  gave  him- 
self few  pleasures,  after  the  fashion  of  the  man ; 
and  the  summer  people  at  the  Point  knew  him  not. 
He  was  not  of  them,  nor  of  their  world.  After- 
wards, he  recalled,  with  a  kind  of  pain  lacking 
little  of  anguish,  how  few  in  number  had  been  his 
evenings  in  the  cool  parlor  of  the  cottage,  where 
the  lace  curtains  blew  in  and  out  through  the  pur- 
ple twilight,  or  on  the  impearled  harbor,  in  the 
dory,  when  the  sun  went  down,  and  he  drifted  with 
her  between  earth  and  heaven,  between  light  and 
reflection,  in  a  glamour  of  color,  in  alternations  of 
quiet,  dangerous  talk,  and  of  more  dangerous 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  255 

silence  ;  brief,  stolen  hours  when  duty  seemed  a 
dimming  dream,  and  human  joy  the  only  reality, 
the  sole  value,  the  decreed  and  eternal  end  of  lifee 
Upon  this  rare  and  scanty  substitute  for  happiness 
he  fed ;  and  from  it  he  fled. 

Between  his  devotions  and  his  desertions  the 
woman  stood  mute  and  inscrutable.  And  while 
they  still  moved  apart,  saying,  "  The  summer  is  be- 
fore us,"  lo,  the  petals  of  the  Cape  roses  had  flown 
on  the  hot  winds,  the  goldenrod  was  lifting  its 
sword  of  flame  on  the  undulating  gray  downs,  and 
the  summer  was  spent. 

And  yet,  at  every  march  and  countermarch  in 
the  drill  of  duty,  he  was  aware  of  her.  It  could 
not  be  said  that  she  ever  overstepped  the  invisible 
line  which  he  had  elected  to  draw  between  them ; 
though  it  might  be  said  that  she  had  the  fine  pride/ 
which  did  not  seem  to  see  it.  Helen  had  the  qniet, 
maidenly  reserve  of  an  elder  and  more  delicate  day 
than  ours.  To  throw  her  young  enthusiasm  into 
his  work  without  obtruding  herself  upon  his  atten- 
tion, was  a  difficult  procedure,  for  which  she  had 
at  once  the  decorum  and  the  wit. 

At  unexpected  crises  an.d  in  unthought-of  ways 
he  carne  upon  her  footprints  or  her  sleight-of-hand, 
Helen's  methods  were  purely  her  own.  She  fol= 
lowed  neither  law  nor  gospel ;  no  rules  or  prece- 
dents controlled  her.  She  relieved  what  suffering 
she  chose,  and  omitted  where  she  did  elect;  and 
he  was  sometimes  astonished  at  the  common  sense 
of  her  apparent  willfulness.  She  had  no  more 


256  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

training  in  sociological  problems  than  the  golden- 
rod  upon  the  bosom  of  her  white  gown  ;  yet  she 
seldom  made  a  serious  mistake.  In  a  word,  this 
summer  girl,  playing  at  charity  for  a  season's 
amusement,  poured  a  refreshing  amount  of  nov- 
elty, vigor,  ingenuity,  and  feminine  defiance  of 
routine  into  the  labors  of  the  lonely  man.  His 
too  serious  and  anxious  people  found  her  as  di- 
verting as  a  pretty  parlor  play.  A  laugh  ran 
around  like  a  light  flame  whenever  she  came  upon 
the  sombre  scene.  She  took  a  bevy  of  idle  girls 
with  her,  and  gave  entertainments  on  which  Angel 
Alley  hung,  a  breathless  and  admiring  crowd. 
She  played,  she  sang,  she  read,  she  decorated. 
Pictures  sprang  on  barren  walls ;  books  stood  on 
empty  shelves  ;  games  crowded  the  smoking-room ; 
a  piano  replaced  the  painstaking  melodeon ;  life 
and  light  leaped  where  she  trod,  into  the  poor  and 
unpopular  place.  The  people  took  to  her  one  of 
the  strong,  loyal  fancies  of  the  coast.  Unsuspected 
by  her,  or  by  himself,  she  began,  even  then,  to  be 
known  among  them  as  "  the  minister's  girl."  But 
this  hurt  nobody,  neither  herself  nor  him,  and 
kheir  deference  to  her.  never  defaulted.  In  the 
indulgence  of  that  summer's  serious  mood,  Helen 
seldom  met,  he  was  forced  to  suspect  that  she  pur- 
posely avoided,  the  preacher.  /Often  he  entered  a 
laughing  home  from  which  she  had  just  vanished. 
Sometimes  —  but  less  often  —  he  found  that  she 
had  preceded  him  where  death  and  trouble  were. 
''Their  personal  interviews  were  rare,  and  of  her 
seeking,  never. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  257 

"  She  is  amusing  herself  with  a  novelty,"  he 
thought.  Then  came  the  swift,  unbidden  question, 
If  this  is  her  beautiful  whim,  what  would  her  dedi- 
cation be  ? 

Since,  to  play  at  helping  a  man's  work,  though 
at  the  tip  of  the  sceptre  by  which  he  held  her 
back,  meant  sense  and  sympathy,  fervor  and  cour- 
age like  this,  what  would  it  be  to  the  great  and  sol- 
emn purpose  of  his  life,  if  she  shared  it,  crowned 
queen  ? 

It  was  an  August  evening,  sultry  and  smoky. 
Forest  fires  had  been  burning  for  a  week  on  the 
wooded  side  of  the  harbor,  and  the  air  was  thick. 
It  was  Sunday,  and  the  streets  and  wharves  and 
beaches  of  Windover  surged  with  vacuous  eyes 
and  irritable  passions.  The  lock-ups  were  full,  the 
saloons  overflowedo  The  ribald  song  and  exces- 
sive oath  of  the  coast  swept  up  and  down  like  air 
currents.  There  had  been  several  accidents  and 
some  fights.  Kum  ran  in  streams.  It  was  one  of 
the  stifling  evenings  when  the  most  decent  ten- 
ement retains  only  the  sick  or  the  helpless,  and 
when  the  occupants  of  questionable  sailors'  board- 
ing-houses and  nameless  dens  crawl  out  like  ver- 
min fleeing  from  fire.  It  was  one  of  the  nights 
when  the  souls  of  women  go  to  perdition,  and  when 
men  do  not  argue  with  their  vices.  It  was  one  of 
the  nights  when  ease  and  cool,  luxury  and  delicacy, 
forget  the  gehenna  that  they  escape  ;  and  when 
only  the  strong  few  remember  the  weakness  of  the 
many. 


258  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Upon  the  long  beach  of  fine  white  sand  which 
spanned  the  space  between  the  docks  and  the  cliffs 
of  the  wooded  coast,  there  gathered  that  evening  a 
large  and  unusual  crowd.  Angel  Alley  was  there 
en  masse.  The  wharves  poured  out  a  mighty  del 
egation.  Dories  put  out  from  anchored  vessels 
whose  prows  nodded  in  the  inner  harbor,  and  theii 
crews  swarmed  to  the  beach  in  schools,  like  fish  to 
a  net. 

A  few  citizens  of  another  sort,  moved,  one  might 
say,  from  curiosity,  innocent  or  malicious,  joined 
themselves  to  the  fishermen  and  sailors.  Their 
numbers  were  increased  by  certain  of  the  summer 
people  from  the  Point,  drawn  from  their  piazzas 
and  their  hammocks  by  rumors  of  a  sensation.  An 
out-of-door  service,  said  to  be  the  first  of  its  kind 
conducted  by  the  remarkable  young  preacher  of 
such  excellent  family  and  such  eccentric  career, 
was  not  without  its  attractions  even  on  the  hottest 
evening  of  the  season,,  There  might  have  been 
easily  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand  people  facing 
the  light  temporary  desk  or  pulpit  which  had  been 
erected  at  the  head  of  the  beach  for  the  speaker's 
use. 

The  hour  was  early,  and  it  would  have  been 
very  light  but  for  the  smoke  in  the  air,  through 
which  the  sun  hung,  quivering  and  sinister,  with 
the  malevolent  blood-red  color  of  drought  and 
blasting  heat. 

"  Statira,"  in  a  low  tone  said  the  puzzled  voice 
of  ihe  Professor  of  Theology,  "  this  is  —  I  must 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  259 

say  —  really,  a  most  extraordinary  gathering.  It 
quite  impresses  me." 

"  I  have  read  something  somewhere  it  reminds 
me  of,"  mused  Mrs.  Carruth,  with  a  knot  between 
her  placid  brows.  "  Where  was  it,  Haggai  ?  -— 
Helen!  Helen!  What  have  I  read  that  is  like 
this  ?  I  can't  think  whether  it  is  George  Eliot, 
or  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs.  Perhaps  it  is  the  Me- 
moirs of  Whitefield  ;  but  certainly  "  — 

"  Possibly,"  suggested  Helen,  "  it  may  have 
been  the  New  Testament." 

"  That 's  it !  You  have  it !  "  cried  Mrs,  Car- 
ruth, with  mild  relief.  "  That 's  the  very  thing. 
How  extraordinary  !  It  is  the  New  Testament  I 
have  got  into  my  head." 

The  Professor  of  Theology  changed  color 
slightly,  but  he  made  no  answer  to  his  wife.  He 
was  absorbed  in  watching  the  scene  before  him. 
There  were  many  women  in  the  crowd,  but  men 
predominated  in  proportion  significant  to  the  eye 
familiar  with  the  painfully  feminine  character  of 
New  England  religious  audiences.  Of  these  men, 
four  fifths  were  toilers  of  the  sea,  red  of  face,  un- 
certain of  step,  rough  of  hand,  keen  of  eye5  and 
open  of  heart,  — 

"  Fearing  no  God  but  wind  and  wet." 

The  scent  of  bad  liquor  was  strong  upon  the 
heavy,  windless  air;  oaths  rippled  to  and  fro  as 
easily  as  the  waves  upon  the  beach,  and  (it  seemed) 
quite  as  much  according  to  the  laws  of  Nature, 


260  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Yet  the  men  bore  a  decent  look  of  personal  respect 
for  the  situation.  All  wore  their  best  clothes,  and 
most  were  clean  for  the  occasion.  They  chatted 
among  themselves  freely,  paying  small  heed  to  the 
presence  of  strangers,  these  being  regarded  as  in= 
ferior  aliens  who  did  not  know  how  to  man  a  boat 
in  a  gale. 

The  fisherman's  sense  of  his  own  superior  posi- 
tion is,  in  any  event,  something  delightful.  In  this 
case  there  was  added  the  special  aristocracy  recog- 
nized in  Angel  Alley  as  belonging  to  Bayard's 
people.  Right  under  the  ears  of  the  Professor  of 
Theology  uprose  these  awful  words  :  — 

"  D them  swells.  He  don't  care  a for 

them.  We  get  along  up  to  Christlove  without  'em, 
don't  we,  Bob  ?  The  parson 's  ourn,  anyhow.  He 
can't  be  bothered  with  the  likes  o'  them." 

"  Look  a'  Job  Slip  yonder !  See  the  face  of 
him,  shaved  like  a  dude.  That's  him,  a-passin' 
round  hymn-books.  Who'd  believe  it?  Job! 

Why,  he  ain't  teched  a drop  sence  he  swore 

off  !  Look  a'  that  young  one  of  his  taggin'  to  his 
finger  !  That 's  his  wife,  that  bleached-out  creetur 
in  a  new  bunnet.  See  the  look  of  her  now  !  " 

"  It  's  a  way  women  have,  —  lookin'  like  that 
when  a  man  swears  off,"  replied  a  young  fellow, 
wriggling  uncomfortably.  "  It  kinder  puts  my 
eyes  out —  like  it  was  a  lamp  turned  up  too  high." 

He  winked  hard  and  turned  away. 

"  Ben  Trawl !  Hello,  Trawl !  You  here  ?  So 
fond  of  the  minister  as  this?  " 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  261 

"  I  like  to  keep  my  eye  on  him,"  replied  Ben 
Trawl  grimly. 

Captain  Hap,  distributing  camp-chairs  for  the 
women  of  the  audience,  turned  and  eyed  Ben  over 
his  shoulder.  The  Captain's  small,  keen  eyes 
held  the  dignity  and  the  scorn  of  age  and  char- 
acter. 

;"  Shut  up  there  ! "  he  said  authoritatively. 
1  The  minister  's  comin'.  Trot  back  to  your  grog- 
hop,  Ben.  This  ain't  no  place  for  Judases,  nor 
'et  for  rummies." 

"  Gorry,"  laughed  a  young  skipper ;  "  he  ain't 
got  customers  enough  to  okkepy  him.  They  're  all 
here." 

Now  there  sifted  through  the  crowd  an  eager, 
affectionate  whisper. 

"  There !  There  's  the  preacher.  Look  that 
way —  See?  That  tall,  thin  fellar  —  him  with 
the  eyes." 

"That 'shim!  That 'shim.  That  long-sparred 
fellar.  Three  cheers  for  him !  "  shouted  the 
mate  of  a  collier,  flinging  up  his  hat. 

A  billow  of  applause  started  along  the  beachc 
Then  a  woman's  voice  called  out :  — 

"Boys,  he  don't  like  it!"  and  the  wave  of 
sound  dropped  as  suddenly  as  it  rose. 

"  He  comes !  "  cried  an  Italian. 

"  So  he  does,  Tony,  so  he  does !  "  echoed  the 
woman.  "  God  bless  him !  " 

"  He  comes,"  repeated  Tony.  "  Hush  you, 
boys  —  the  Christman  comes  !  " 


262  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  pressed  the  tips  of 
his  scholarly  ringers  upon  his  aging  eyes. 

It  was  some  moments  before  he  commanded 
himself,  and  looked  up. 

Bayard  stood  bareheaded  in  the  color  of  the  red 
sun.  He  was  pale,  notwithstanding  the  warmth  of 
the  evening,  and  had  a  look  so  worn  that  those 
who  loved  him  most  felt  unspoken  fear  like  the 
grip  of  a  hand  at  their  hearts.  The  transparence, 
the  delicacy  of  his  appearance,  —  bathed  in  the 
scarlet  of  the  murky  sunset,  as  he  was,  —  gave 
him  an  aspect  half  unreal.  /He  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  be  a  beautiful  phantom  rising  from  a 
mist  of  blood.  rjA  hush,  half  of  reverence,  half  of 
awe,  fell  upon  all  the  people ;  it  grew  so  still  that 
the  lazy  breath  of  the  shallow  wave  at  that  mo- 
ment spent  upon  the  beach,  could  be  heard  stirring 
through  the  calm.  I 

Suddenly,  and  before  the  preacher  had  spoken 
any  word,  the  impressive  silence  was  marred  by  a 
rude  sound.  It  was  a  girl's  coarse  laugh. 

Then  there  was  seen  upon  the  beach,  and  quite 
apart  from  the  throng,  a  little  group  of  nameless 
women,  standing  with  their  backs  to  the  sacred 
scene.  Some  one  —  Job  Slip,  perhaps,  or  Captain 
Hap  —  started  with  an  exclamation  of  horror  to 
suppress  the  disturbance,  when  the  preacher's 
lifted  hand  withstood  him.  To  the  consternation  of 
his  chrrch  officers,  and  to  the  astonishment  of  his 
audience,  Bayard  deliberately  left  the  desk,  and, 
passing  through  the  throng,  which  respectfully 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  263 

divided  before  him  to  left  and  right,  himself  ap- 
proached the  women. 

"  Lena  !  .  .  .  Magdalena  I " 

He  said  but  that  word.  The  girl  looked  up — . 
and  down.  She  felt  as  if  an  archangel  from  the 
heavens,  commissioned  with  the  rebuke  of  God, 
had  smitten  her  with  something  far  more  terrible 
—  the  mercy  of  man. 

"  You  disturb  us,  Lena,"  said  the  preacher  gen- 
tly. "  Come." 

She  followed  him ;  and  the  girls  behind  her. 
They  hung  their  heads.  Lena  scrawled  she  knew 
not  what  with  the  tip  of  her  gaudy  parasol  upon 
the  beach.  Her  heavy  eyes  traced  the  little  peb- 
bles in  the  sand.  For  her  life,  she  thought,  she 
could  not  have  lifted  her  smarting  lids.  Till  that 
moment,  perhaps,  Lena  had  never  known  what 
shame  meant.  It  overwhelmed  her,  like  the 
deluge  which  one  dreams  may  foretell  the  end  of 
the  world. 

The  street  girls  followed  the  preacher  silently. 
He  conducted  them  gently  through  the  throng, 
and  seated  them  quite  near  the  desk  or  table 
which  served  him  as  a  pulpit.  Some  of  his  people 
frowned.  The  girls  looked  abashed  at  this  cour- 
tesy. 

Bayard  ignored  both  evidences  of  attention  to 
his  unexpected  act,  passing  it  by  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  without  further  delay  made  signs  to 
his  singers,  and  the  service  began. 


264  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Was  it  magic  or  miracle  ?  Was  it  holiness  or 
eloquence  ?  Did  he  speak  with  the  tongue  of 
man  or  of  angel  ?  Where  was  the  secret  ?  What 
was  the  charm  ?  Not  a  man  or  woman  of  them 
could  have  answered,  but  not  a  soul  of  them 
could  have  gainsaid  the  power  of  the  preacher  i 
the  Professor  of  Theology  least  of  all.  This 
learned  man  stood  the  service  out,  upon  the  beach, 
behind  the  camp-chairs  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
and  knew  neither  fatigue  nor  the  critical  faculty, 
till  the  beautiful  worship  drew  to  its  end. 

Bayard's  manner  was  quiet,  finished,  and  per- 
suasive ;  it  must  have  appealed  to  the  most  fastidi- 
ous oratorical  taste ;  any  instructor  in  homiletics 
might  have  seen  in  it  a  remarkable  illustration  of 
the  power  of  consecrated  education  over  ignorance 
and  vice.  But  Bayard's  thought  threw  off  eccle- 
siastical form  as  naturally  as  the  gulls,  arising 
from  the  harbor  in  the  reddening  sunset,  tossed  off 
the  spray  from  their  wings.  No  class  of  men  are 
more  responsive  to  originality  than  sea-going  men. 
Of  the  humdrum,  the  commonplace,  they  will 
naught.  Cant  they  scorn,  and  at  religious  snob- 
bery they  laugh. 

i  It  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  it  was  in  Eman- 
'uel  Bayard  that  most  attracted  them :  whether  his 
sincerity  or  his  intellect,  his  spirituality  or  his 
manliness ;  or  that  mystical  charm  which  comes 
not  of  striving,  or  of  prayer,  or  of  education  — 
the  power  of  an  elect  personality.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  nearer  the  truth  to  say  that  the  fishermen 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  265 

loved  him  because  he  loved  them.  The  idea  is 
older  than  the  time  of  this  biography,  but  it  will 
bear  repeating. 

The  red  sun  dipped,  and  the  hot  night  cooledc 
Dusk  purpled  on  the  breathless  water,  and  on  the 
long  beach.  A  thousand  restless  people  grew  as 
gentle  as  one.  The  outlines  of  the  preacher's  form 
softened  into  the  surrounding  shadow ;  the  features 
of  his  high  face  melted  and  wavered.  Only  his 
appealing  voice  remained  distinct.  It  seemed  to  be 
the  cry  of  a  spirit  more  than  the  eloquence  of  a 
man.  It  pleaded  as  no  man  pleads  who  has  not 
forgotten  himself,  as  no  man  can  plead  who  is  not 
remembered  of  God.  Fishermen  stood  with  one 
foot  on  the  beach,  and  one  on  their  stranded  dories, 
like  men  afraid  to  stir.  Kude,  uncomfortable  men 
in  the  heart  of  the  crowd  thrust  their  heads  for- 
wards with  breath  held  in,  as  still  as  figure-heads 
upon  a  wreck.  The  uplifted  eyes  of  the  throng 
took  on  an  expression  of  awe.  It  grew  dimmer, 
and  almost  dark.  And  then,  when  no  one  could 
see  the  pathos  of  his  face,  they  knew  that  he  was 
praying  for  their  souls.  Some  of  the  men  fell  upon 
their  knees  ;  but  the  heads  of  others  got  no  lower 
than  their  guilty  breasts,  where  they  hung  like 
children's.  The  sound  of  stifled  sobbing  mingled 
with  the  sigh  of  the  waves. 

The  unseen  singers,  breathing  upon  the  last 
words  of  the  prayer,  chanted  a  solemn  benediction. 
The  tide  was  rising  slowly,  and  the  eternal  Amen 
of  the  sea  responded.  Suddenly  a  lantern  flashed 


266  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

—  and  another  — and  light  and  motion  broke  upon 
the  scene. 

Rough  men  looked  into  one  another's  wet  faces, 
and  were  not  ashamed.  But  some  held  their  hats  be- 
fore their  eyes.  The  girls  in  the  front  chairs  moved 
away  quietly,  speaking  to  no  person.  But  Lena 
separated  herself  from  them,  and  disappeared  in 
the  dark.  Job  Slip  had  not  arisen  from  his  knees, 
and  Mari,  his  wife,  knelt  by  him.  The  woman's 
expression  was  something  touching  to  see,  and  im- 
possible to  forget.  Captain  Hap  held  a  lantern  up, 
and  Bayard's  face  shone  out,  rapt  and  pale. 

"  Behold  the  Christman  !  "  said  the  Italian,  re- 
peating his  favorite  phrase  in  a  reverent  whisper. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  heard  it  again ;  and 
repetition  did  not  weaken  its  effect  upon  the  Or- 
thodox scholar.  He  removed  his  hat  from  his  gray 
head.  His  wife  held  her  delicate  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes.  Helen,  struggling  with  herself,  was  pale 
with  emotion.  The  Professor  tried  to  speak. 

"  It  is  not,"  he  said,  "  precisely  a  doctrinal  dis- 
course, and  his  theology  "  — 

The  Professor  checked  himself.  "  It  is  written," 
he  said,  "  that  the  common  people  heard  HIM  gladly. 
And  it  must  be  admitted  that  our  dear  young 
friend,  His  servant,  seems  to  command  that  which 

—  men  older  and  —  sounder  than  he,  would  give 
their  lives  —  and  fame  —  to  —  " 

But  there  he  choked,  and  tried  to  say  no  more. 

There  ought  to  have  been  a  moon  that  night, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  267 

and  the  electric  jets  at  the  crest  of  the  beach  had 
not  been  lighted.  By  the  special  request  of  the 
preacher,  or  by  the  forethought  of  the  police,  in 
view,  perhaps,  of  the  unusual  size  of  the  crowd,  the 
lights  now  sprang  out. 

The  throng  dispersed  slowly.  The  dark  sea 
formed  a  sober  background  to  the  mass  of  quietly 
moving  figures.  The  fishermen,  with  one  foot  on 
their  dories,  leaped  in,  and  pushed  off ;  scattered 
crews  gathered  gently,  and  rowed  soberly  back  to 
their  schooners.  Groups  collected  around  the 
preacher,  waiting  their  turns  for  a  word  from  his 
lips,  or  a  touch  from  his  hand.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  very  tired,  but  he  refused  himself  to 
no  one. 

The  summer  people  walked  away  softly.  They 
passed  through  Angel  Alley  on  their  way  to  take 
the  electric  car.  They  looked  up  thoughtfully  at 
the  illuminated  words  swinging  over  their  heads  in 
fire  of  scarlet  and  white  :  — 

"THE  LOVE  OF  CHRIST." 

As  she  passed  by  the  door  of  the  mission,  Helen 
was  recognized  by  some  of  the  women  and  chil- 
dren, who  surrounded  her  affectionately,  begging 
for  some  little  service  at  her  hands.  It  seemed 
to  be  desired  that  she  should  play  or  sing  to 
them.  While  she  stood,  hesitating,  between  her 
father  and  her  mother,  Bayard  himself,  with  a 
group  of  fishermen  around  him,  came  up  Angel 
Alley. 


268  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  I  will  see  that  she  is  safely  taken  home,  Pro- 
fessor, if  you  care  to  let  her  stay,"  he  said.  "  We 
won't  keep  her  —  perhaps  half  an  hour  ?  Will  that 
do  ?  The  people  like  to  hear  her  sing ;  it  helps  to 
keep  them  out  of  the  street." 

"  Mr.  Bayard  will  look  after  her,  Haggai,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Carruth  wearily.  "  I  see  no  objections, 
do  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Carruth  was  very  tired.  Not  to  give  a  so- 
ber Monday  to  all  the  drunkards  of  Angel  Alley 
would  she  have  felt  that  she  could  stay  another 
hour  in  that  mob.  She  never  saw  such  sights  in 
Cesarea ;  where  charity  took  a  mild,  ladylike  form, 
consisting  chiefly  of  missionary  barrels,  and  Dor- 
cas societies  for  the  families  of  poor  students  who 
had  no  business  to  have  married. 

The  Professor  took  her  away.  He  wanted  to 
tell  his  heretic  graduate  what  he  had  thought  about 
that  service  on  the  beach;  indeed,  he  made  one 
effort  to  do  so,  beginning  slowly :  — 

"My  dear  Bayard,  your   discourse   this  even- 

ing"- 

"  To  h with  'em  !  "  cried  Captain  Hap  in  a 

thunderous  sea- voice,  at  that  moment.  "  Mr.  Bay- 
ard !  Mr.  Bayard,  sir  !  Come  here !  Here 's  them 
two  Trawlses  a-tryin'  to  toll  Job  Slip  into  their 
place f  Mr.  Bayard !  Mr.  Bayard !  " 

Mr.  Bayard  held  out  his  hand  to  his  Professor, 
and,  smiling,  shook  his  head.  Then  he  vanished 
down  the  Alley.  He  had  lingered  only  to  say  these 
words  in  Helen's  ear :  — 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  269 

"  Go  into  the  chapel  and  stay  there  till  I  come 
for  you.  Look  after  Lena  —  will  you?  I  want 
her  kept  inside.  Get  her  to  singing  with  you,  if 
you  can." 

He  called  back  over  his  shoulder :  — 

"  I  will  bring  her  home,  Mrs.  Carruth,  in  half 
an  hour.  I  will  row  her  home,  myself.  I  have 
a  boat  here." 

Professor  Carruth  stood  for  a  moment  watching 
the  thronged,  bright  doorway  into  which  his 
daughter  had  disappeared.  The  fishermen  and 
the  drunkards,  the  Windover  widows  in  their  crape 
and  calico,  the  plain,  obscure,  respectable  parish- 
ioners, and  the  girls  from  the  street  moved  in  to- 
gether beneath  the  white  and  scarlet  lights. 
Helen's  voice  sounded  suddenly  through  the  open 
windows.  She  sang :  — 

"  I  need  Thee  every  hour. 
Stay  Thou  near  by." 

"Hello,  Bob,"  said  a  voice  in  the  street. 
"  That 's  the  minister's  hymn."  Groups  of  men 
moved  over  from  the  grogshop  to  the  chapel  door. 
They  collected,  and  increased  in  numbers.  One 
man  struck  into  the  chorus,  on  a  low  bass,  — 

"  Stay  near  me,  O  my  Saviour." 

Another  voice  joined ;  and  another.  Up  and  down 
the  street  the  men  took  the  music  up.  From 
Angel  Alley  without,  and  Christlove  within,  the 
voices  of  the  people  met  and  mingled  in  "  the  par- 
son's  hymn." 


270  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  glanced  at  the  illu- 
minated words  above  his  head. 

"  It  is  growing  chilly.  I  am  sure  you  will  take 
cold,"  complained  his  wife.  With  bared,  gray 
head  the  Professor  walked  out  of  Angel  Alley,  and 
his  old  wife  clung  silently  to  his  arm.  She  felt 
that  this  was  one  of  the  moments  when  Mr.  Car- 
ruth  should  not  be  spoken  to. 

Bayard  brought  Helen  home  as  he  had  promised; 
and  it  was  but  a  little  beyond  the  half  of  the  hour 
when  his  dory  bumped  against  the  float.  He 
rowed  her  over  the  dim  harbor  with  long,  skillful 
strokes  ;  Helen  fancied  that  they  were  not  as  strong 
as  they  might  have  been ;  he  seemed  to  her  almost 
exhausted.  They  had  exchanged  but  a  few  words. 
Midway  of  the  harbor  she  hsxl  said  abruptly,  — 

"  Mr.  Bayard,  I  cannot  keep  it  to  myself !  I 
must  tell  you  how  what  you  said  this  evening  on 
the  beach  —  how  that  service  made  me  feel." 

"  Don't !  "  said  Bayard  quickly.  Helen  shrank 
back  into  the  stern  of  the  dory ;  she  felt,  for  the 
moment,  terribly  wounded. 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  he  pleaded.  "  I  did  n't  feel  as 
if  I  could  bear  it —  that 's  all." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  making  a  fool  of 
myself  over  ministers,"  replied  Helen  hotly.  "  I 
never  told  one  I  liked  his  sermon,  yet,  in  all  my 
life.  I  was  going  to  say  —  I  meant  to  say  —  I 
will  say ! "  she  cried,  sitting  up  very  straight, 
"  Mr.  Bayard,  you  are  better  than  I  am ;  truly, 
infinitely,  solemnly  better.  1 5ve  never  even  tried 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  271 

to  be  what  you  are.  You  've  done  me  good,  as 
well  as  Job,  and  Lena,  and  the  rest.  I  wo?i't 
go  away  without  saying  it,  —  and  I  'm  going  away 
this  week.  .  .  .  There !  " 

She  drew  a  long  breath  and  leaned  back. 

Bayard  rowed  on  for  some  moments  in  inscruta- 
ble silence.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  expression 
of  his  face.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  half- 
articulate,  tired  way. 

"  I  did  not  know.     Are  you  coming  back  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  Campo  Bello  with  the  Rollinses," 
replied  Helen  briefly.  "  I  don't  expect  to  come 
back  again  this  year." 

"  I  wonder  I  had  not  thought  of  it,"  said  Bay- 
ard slowly.  "  I  did  not,"  he  added. 

"  The  people  will  miss  you,"  he  suggested,  after 
a  miserable  pause. 

"  Oh,  they  will  get  used  to  that,"  said  Helen. 

"  And  7?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  whose  anguish 
smote  suddenly  upon  her  ears,  like  a  mortal  cry. 
"  What  is  to  become  of  me  ?" 

"  You  '11  get  used  to  it,  too,"  she  said,  thrusting 
out  her  hands  in  that  way  she  had. 

His  oars  dropped  across  his  knees. 

Before  either  of  them  could  speak  or  think  or 
reason,  he  had  caught  one  of  her  outstretched 
hands.  It  lay,  warm,  soft,  quivering,  — a  terrible 
temptation  in  the  grasp  of  the  devotee. 
T  He  could  have  devoured  it  —  her  —  soul  and 
body;  he  could  have  killed  her  with  kisses;  he 
could  have  murdered  her  with  love. 


272  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Instead,  he  laid  Helen's  hand  down  gently.  He 
did  not  so  much  as  lift  it  to  his  starving  lips.  He 
laid  it  down  upon  her  own  lap  quite  solemnly,  as 
if  he  relinquished  something  unspeakably  precious. 
He  took  up  his  oars,  and  rowed  her  home. 

Neither  had  spoken  again.  Helen's  heart  beat 
wildly.  She  dared  not  look  at  him.  Under  the 
solitary  lantern  of  the  deserted  float  she  felt  his 
strong  gaze  upon  her,  and  it  looked,  not  with  the 
eyes  of  angels,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  man. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  love  you  !  "  he  breathed  in  a 
broken  voice. 

Saying  this,  and  only  this,  he  led  her  to  her 
father's  door,  and  left  her. 


XIX. 

THE  mosquito-net  portiere  swayed  softly  in  the 
night  wind.  Emanuel  Bayard  sat  in  his  study  and 
looked  about  the  poor  place,  gasping-,  like  a  man 
who  has  received  or  given  a  mortal  hurt.  The 
marred  face  of  the  great  Christ  looked  through  the 
coarse,  white  gauze  ;  it  seemed  to  scrutinize  him 
sternly ;  he  bowed  his  head  before  the  gaze  of  the 
picture. 

The  gradual  descent  from  a  spiritual  height  to 
a  practical  level  is,  at  best,  a  strain  under  which 
the  godliest  nature  quivers ;  but  Bayard  experi- 
enced the  shock  of  a  plunge.  From  the  elation  of 
the  past  hour  to  the  consternation  of  the  present 
moment  was  a  long  leap. 

He  closed  his  eyes  to  see  the  blood-red  sunset 
unfurling  its  flag  over  the  broad  beach ;  he  opened 
them  to  see  Mrs.  Granite's  kerosene  lamp  smoking 
on  the  study-table  of  grained  pine  wood.  The 
retina  of  his  soul  suffered  an  adjustment  as  abrupt 
and  as  severe.  But  an  hour  ago,  a  thousand  people 
had  hung  swaying  upon  the  breath  that  went  forth 
from  between  his  lips  ;  their  upturned  faces  offered 
him  that  most  exquisite  of  flatteries  —  the  rever- 
ence of  a  great  audience  for  an  orator  who  has 
mastered  them.  We  should  remember  that  the 


274  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

religious  orator  stands,  both  in  privilege  and  in 
peril,  apart  from  his  kind.  He  may  suffer  at  once 
the  subtlest  of  human  dangers,  and  the  deepest  of 
human  joys.  Bayard  trembled  yet  with  the  exal- 
tation of  that  solemn  hour. 

Midway  between  earth  and  heaven,  commissioner 
/between  man  and  his  Maker,  he  had  stood  tran- 
'  scendent,  well-nigh  translated.  !  He  had  floated  in 
the  adoration  of  his  people ;  he  had  been  to  them 
one  of  the  sons  of  God ;  he  had  held  their  bare 
souls  in  his  hand,  j 

While  his  head  whirled  with  the  suffocation  of 
the  incense,  he  had  stumbled.  He  had  made  the 
misstep  which  to  a  lofty  soul  may  give  more  an- 
guish than  guilt  to  the  low.  He  had  fallen  from 
the  heights  of  his  own  faith  in  himself,  sheer  over, 
and  below  the  ideal  which  those  upon  whose  wor- 
shiping love  he  lived  trustfully  cherished  of  him. 

An  hour  ago,  he  was  a  man  of  God.  Now  he 
called  himself  less  than  a  man  among  men. 

Bound  by  every  claim  of  spiritual  and  of  human 
honor  to  preserve  the  strong  silence  by  which  a 
man  protects  a  woman  from  himself,  and  himself 
from  her,  he  had  weakly,  to  his  high  view  it 
seemed  he  had  ignobly,  broken  it.  'He  had  de- 
clared love  to  a  woman  whom  he  could  not  ask  to 
be  his  wife.  To  crown  the  pity  of  it  and  the  shame, 
he  had  turned  on  his  heel,  and  left  her  —  so ! 

"  I  have  done  a  thing  for  which  I  would  have 
thrashed  a  man  who  had  done  as  much  by  a  sister 
of  mine ! "  said  this  young  apostle  between  his 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  275 

teeth.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  might  be 
liable  to  overestimate  the  situation.  Religious 
exaltation  exposes  a  sensitive  nature  to  mental 
and  spiritual  excess  as  dangerous  in  its  way  as 
physical  dissipation.  Bayard  stood  in  that  great 
desert  known  only  to  fine  souls,  where  the  noblest 
side  of  a  man  seems  to  take  up  arms  against  him; 
and  where  the  very  consecrated  weapons  by  which 
he  has  battled  his  way  to  purity,  unselfishness,  and 
peace  turn  themselves  like  sentient  foes  and  smite 
him.  He  seemed  to  stand  unarmed  and  defence* 
less  before  forces  of  evil  whose  master  he  had  been 
so  long,  that  he  looked  upon  their  defiant  faces 
with  more  astonishment  than  fear. 

"  This  is  an  insurrection  of  slaves,"  he  thought. 
He  looked  blindly  about  his  dreary  room. 

44  Down ! "  he  said,  as  if  he  had  been  speaking 
to  dogs. 

And  now  —  what?  It  seemed  to  his  quivering 
sensibility  a  proof  that  he  had  fallen  to  a  far  depth, 
that  the  first,  bare  instinct  of  his  anguish  was  not 
to  say,  44  What  is  my  duty  in  this  thing  ? "  but, 
64  How  shall  I  bear  it?" 

With  that  automatism  of  Christian  habit  which 
time  and  trouble  may  teach  the  coldest  scoffer  to 
respect,  Bayard's  hand  groped  for  his  Bible.  We 
have  seen  this  touching  movement  in  the  sick,  the 
aged,  the  bereaved,  and  in  the  utterly  alone ;  and 
who  of  us  has  been  so  poor  in  spirit  as  to  do  it 
irreverence?  In  so  young  a  man  this  desolate 
instinct  had  a  deep  significance. 


276  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Bayard's  Bible  opened  at  the  New  Testament, 
whose  worn  pages  moved  apart,  at  a  touch,  like 
lips  that  would  answer  him. 

As  he  took  the  book  something  fell  from  it  to 
the  floor.  He  stooped,  holding  his  finger  between 
the  open  leaves,  and  picked  the  object  up.  It  was 
a  flower  —  a  pressed  flower  —  the  saxifrage  that 
he  had  gathered  from  the  hem  of  her  dress  on  the 
sand  of  the  beach,  that  April  day. 

The  Bible  fell  from  his  knee.  He  snatched 
the  dead  flower  to  his  lips,  and  kissed  it  passion- 
ately. 

"  There  was  another,  too,"  he  hungrily  said. 
"  There  was  a  pansy.  She  left  it  on  the  sofa 
pillow  in  this  room.  The  pansy !  the  pansy  !  " 

He  took  up  the  Bible,  and  searched  feverishly. 
But  he  could  not  find  the  pansy ;  the  truth  being 
that  Jane  Granite  had  seen  it  on  the  study-table, 
and  had  dusted  it  away. 

He  laid  the  Bible  down  upon  the  table,  and 
seized  the  saxifrage.  He  kissed  it  again  and 
again ;  he  devoured  it  over  and  over ;  he  held  it 
in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  softly  laid  his  cheek 
upon  it.  ... 

Behind  the  white  gauze,  the  Christ  on  the  wall 
looked  down.  Suddenly  Bayard  raised  his  hag- 
gard face.  The  eyes  of  the  picture  and  the  eyes 
of  the  man  met. 

"Anything  but  this  —  everything  but  this  — 
Thou  knowest."  Aloud,  Bayard  uttered  the  words 
as  if  he  expected  to  be  heard. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  277 

"  Only  this  —  the  love  of  man  for  woman  — 
how  canst  THOU  understand  ?  " 

Bayard  arose  to  his  full  height;  he  lifted  his 
hands  till  they  touched  the  low,  cracked  ceiling  \ 
it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  lifted  them  into  illimi- 
table heaven  ;  as  if  he  bore  on  them  the  greatest 
mystery  and  the  mightiest  woe  of  all  the  race. 
His  lips  moved;  only  inarticulate  whispers  came 
from  them. 

Then  his  hands  fell,  and  his  face  fell  into  them. 

Bayard  went  to  her  like  a  man,  and  at  once. 
At  an  hour  of  the  morning  so  early  that  he  felt 
obliged  to  apologize  for  his  intrusion,  his  sleepless 
face  appeared  at  the  door  of  her  father's  cottage. 

He  had  no  more  idea,  even  yet,  what  he  should 
say  to  her  than  the  Saint  Michael  over  his  study- 
table.  He  felt  in  himself  a  kind  of  pictorial  help- 
lessness ;  as  if  he  represented  something  which  he 
was  incapable  of  expressing.  His  head  swam. 
He  leaned  back  on  the  bamboo  chair  in  the  parlor0 
Through  the  soft  stirring  of  the  lace  curtains  he 
watched  a  fleet  start  out,  and  tack  across  the  har- 
bor. He  interested  himself  in  the  greenish-white 
sails  of  an  old  schooner  with  a  new  suit  on.  He 
found  it  impossible  to  think  coherently  of  the  in- 
terview which  awaited  him. 

A  hand  fell  on  the  latch  of  the  door.  He  turned 
—  ah! 

"  Good-morning,  Professor,"  said  Bayard,  rising 
manfully.  His  pale  face,  if  possible,  turned  a  shade 


278  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

whiter.  It  seemed  to  him  the  fitting  sequel  to  his 
weakness  that  he  should  be  called  to  account  by 
the  girl's  father.  "  I  have  deserved  it,"  he  thought. 

"  Ah,  Bayard,  this  is  too  bad !  "  said  the  Pro- 
fessor of  Theology,  cordially  holding  out  his  hand, 
*'  You  have  just  missed  my  daughter.  I  am  sure 
she  will  regret  it.  She  took  the  twenty  minutes 
past  seven  train." 

"  Took  the  train  .*•"  panted  Bayard. 

"  She  has  gone  to  join  some  friends  of  ours  — 
the  Rollinses,  at  Campo  Bello.  She  did  not  in- 
tend to  leave  for  some  days  ;  but  the  mood  took 
her,  and  off  she  started.  I  think,  indeed,  she  went 
without  her  breakfast.  Helen  is  whimsical  at 
times.  Do  be  seated!  "We  will  do  our  poor 
best  to  take  my  daughter's  place,"  pursued  the 
Professor,  smiling  indulgently ;  "  and  I  'm  espe- 
cially glad  of  this  opportunity,  Bayard,  to  tell  you 
how  much  I  was  impressed  by  your  discourse  last 
night.  I  don't  mind  saying  so  at  all." 

"Thank  you,  Professor,"  said  Bayard  faintly. 

"  It  was  not  theology,  you  know,"  observed  the 
Professor,  still  smiling ;  "  you  can't,  expect  me  to 
admit  that  it  was  sound,  Bayard.  But  I  must 
say,  sir,  I  do  say,  that  I  defy  any  council  in  New 
England  to  say  it  was  not  Christianity !  " 

"Thank  you,  Professor,"  repeated  Bayard,  more 
faintly  than  before.  He  found  it  impossible  to 
talk  about  theology,  or  even  Christianity.  The 
Professor  felt  rather  hurt  that  the  young  man 
took  his  leave  so  soon. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  279 

He  had  thought  of  inviting  him  into  the  clam 
study,  and  reading  some  extracts  from  the  essay 
on  the  State  of  the  Unforgiven  after  Death. 

Bayard  went  back  to  his  own  rooms,  and  wrote 
to  her ;  if  he  could  have  done  so,  he  would  have 
followed  her  to  Campo  Bello  by  the  next  boat. 
The  pitiable  fact  was,  that  he  could  not  raise  the 
money  for  the  trip.  It  occurred  to  him  to  force 
the  occasion  and  borrow  it  —  of  his  treasurer,  of 
George  Fenton,  of  his  uncle ;  but  he  dismissed 
these  fantasies  as  madness,  and  swiftly  wrote :  — 

• 

I  hurried  to  you  at  the  first  decent  moment 
this  morning ;  but  I  was  not  early  enough  by  an 
hour. 

The  reason  why  I  do  not  —  why  I  cannot  follow 
you,  by  the  next  train,  perhaps  you  will  understand 
without  my  being  forced  to  explain.  I  take  the 
only  method  left  to  me  of  justifying  myself  —  if  it 
is  possible  for  me  to  do  that  —  in  your  eyes. 

I  dare  not  believe  —  I  dare  not  hope,  that  what 
I  have  done  can  mean  any  more  to  you  than  pass- 
ing embarrassment  to  a  friendship  whose  value 
and  permanence  shall  not  be  disturbed  by  my 
weakness  if  I  can  help  it. 

I  love  you.  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  so. 
I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  so. 

But  I  love  you !  A  man  situated  as  I  am  has 
no  right  to  declare  his  feeling  for  a  woman  like 
yourself.  This  wrong  have  I  done  —  not  to  you; 
I  do  not  presume  to  dream  that  I  could  thereby 


280  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

in  any  way  wrong  you  —  but  to  myself,  and  to 
my  love  for  you.  It  was  my  sacred  secret ;  it 
is  now  your  absolute  possession.  Do  with  it  — 
and  with  me  —  as  you  will. 

EMANUEL  BAYARD. 

He  dispatched  this  note  by  the  first  mail  to 
Campo  Bello,  and  waited  in  such  patience  as  he 
could  command  for  such  answer  as  she  chose 
to  make  him.  He  waited  a  miserable  time.  At 
the  end  of  that  week  came  a  letter  in  her  strong, 
clear  hand.  •  He  shut  himself  into  his  rooms, 
turned  the  key,  and  read  :  — 


MY  DEAR  MR.  BAYARD: — I  am  not  quite  sure 
that  I  entirely  understand  you.  But  I  believe  in 
you,  altogether ;  and  what  I  do  not  understand, 
I  am  proud  to  take  on  trust. 

The   love  of  a  man  like  yourself  would  be  a 
tribute  to  any  woman.     I  shall  count  it  the  honor 
of  my  life  that  you  have  given  it  to  me.     And  I 
shall  be,  because  of  it,  all  the  more  and  always, 
Your  loyal  friend, 

HELEN  CARRUTH. 

This  composed  and  womanly  reply  did  not 
serve  to  quell  the  agitation  in  which  Bayard  had 
awaited  it.  He  read  and  re-read,  studied  and 
scrutinized  the  few  self-contained  words  with  a 
sense  of  helplessness  which  equaled  his  misery. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  281 

His  position  seemed  to  him  intolerable.  Some- 
thing undignified  about  it  cut  the  proud  fellow  to 
the  quick.  He  had  thought  himself  prepared  for 
any  natural  phase  in  the  lot  which  he  had  elected. 
In  the  old  language  which  the  devotees  of  ages 
have  instinctively  used,  and  which  to  each  solitary 
heart  seems  a  figure  of  speech  as  new  as  its  own 
anguish,  Bayard  had  believed  himself  able  to 
"bear  his  cross."  He  had  now  to  learn  that, 
in  the  curious,  complex  interplay  of  human  life,  a 
man  may  not  be  able  even  to  wear  his  burden 
alone,  and  drop  decently  under  it  when  the  time 
comes.  Suppose,  as  the  cross-bearer  crawls  along 
in  blood  and  dust,  that  the  arm  of  the  coarse 
wood  strikes  and  bruises  the  delicate  flesh  of  a 
woman's  shoulder? 

Suppose  —  oh,  suppose  the  unsupposable,  the 
maddening ! 

Suppose  she  might  have  been  led,  taught  by  his 
great  love  to  love  him  ?  What  then  ? 

Because  a  man  had  a  duty  to  God,  had  he 
none  to  a  woman  ? 

After  a  night  of  sleepless  misery,  he  wrote 
again :  — 

Is  there  no  way  in  which  I  can  see  you  —  if 
only  for  a  moment  ?     Shall  you  be  in  Boston  — 
if  you    are   not    coming   to  Windover  —  on  your 
return  home  ?     This  is  more  than  I  can  bear. 
Yours  utterly, 

E.  B. 


282  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

And  Helen  answered  :  — 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  Mother  wrote  me  yester- 
day that  she  needed  my  help  in  packing.  We  go 
back  to  Cesarea  on  the  9th,  and  I  shall  therefore 
be  in  Windover  for  the  twenty-four  hours  preced- 
ing our  start.  .  .  .  Do  not  suffer  so !  I  told  you 
that  I  trusted  you.  And  I  always  shall. 
Yours  faithfully, 

H.  C. 

It  was  a  chilly  September  evening.  The  early 
dark  of  the  coming  autumn  leaned  from  a  clouded 
sky.  The  goldenrod  and  asters  on  the  side  of  the 
avenue  looked  dim  under  the  glimmer  of  the  hotel 
lights ;  and  the  scarlet  petals  of  the  geraniums  in 
the  flower-beds  were  falling.  In  the  harbor  the 
anchored  fleets  flung  out  their  headlights  above 
a  tossing  sea.  There  was  no  rowing.  The  floats 
were  deserted. 

The  guests,  few  now,  and  elect,  of  the  sort,  that 
know  and  love  the  September  Windover,  clustered 
around  the  fireplace  in  the  big  parlor  of  the  Main- 
sail. On  the  piazza  of  the  Flying  Jib  the  trunks 
stood  strapped  for  the  late  evening  porter  and 
the  early  morning  train.  Bayard  heard  Helen's 
voice  in  the  rooms  overhead,  while  he  sat,  with 
whirling  brain,  making  such  adieus  as  he  could 
master  to  Professor  and  Mrs.  Carruth.  He  thought 
that  the  Professor  looked  at  him  with  unwonted 
keenness;  he  might  have  called  it  sternness,  if 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  283 

he  had  given  himself  time  to  reflect  upon  it.  Re- 
flect he  did  not,  would  not.  He  asked  distinctly 
for  Miss  Helen.  Her  mother  went  to  call  her, 
and  did  not  return.  Professor  Carruth  lingered 
a  few  moments,  and  excused  himself.  The  proofs 
of  the  article  on  the  Unforgiven  had  come  by  the 
evening  mail;  he  had  six  galleys  to  correct  that 
night.  He  shook  hands  with  Bayard  somewhat 
abstractedly,  and  went  over  to  the  clam  study, 
swinging  a  lantern  on  his  thin  arm  to  light  the 
meadow  path. 

"  It  is  too  cold  for  Father  over  there,  to-night," 
said  Helen  immediately,  when  she  and  Bayard 
were  left  alone.  "  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  go. 
The  Unforgiven  are  always  up  to  some  mischief. 
I  would  accept  the  doctrine  of  eternal  punish- 
ment to  get  rid  of  them.  I  'm  glad  they  've  got 
as  far  along  towards  it  as  proof-sheets." 

"Am  I  keeping  your  father  out  of  this  warm 
room  ? "  asked  Bayard  with  his  quick  perception. 
He  glanced  at  the  open  fire  on  the  hearth. 
"  That  won't  do  !  "  he  said  decidedly,  rising. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  that  !  "  cried  Helen, 
flushing. 

14  It  is  true,  all  the  same,  whether  you  meant 
it  or  not,"  returned  Bayard.  "  I  shall  stay  but 
a  few  moments.  Would  you  mind  putting  on 
something  warm,  and  walking  with  me — for  a 
little  ?  We  can  go  over  to  the  clam  study  and  get 
him." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Helen  somewhat  distantly. 


284  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

She  wore  a  summer  traveling-dress  of  purple 
serge,  fastened  at  the  throat  with  a  gold  pansy. 
A  long,  thick  cape  with  a  hood  lay  upon  the 
sofa. 

"Mother's  waterproof  will  do,"  she  said.  She 
wrapped  it  quickly  around  her,  and  they  started 
out.  Something  in  the  utter  absence  of  vanity 
which  led  a  girl  at  such  a  moment  to  wear  the 
most  unbecoming  thing  that  she  could  put  hands 
on,  roused  a  keen  throb  of  admiration  in  Bayard. 
Then  he  remembered,  with  a  pang,  the  anomaly 
of  the  situation.  Why  should  she  wish  to  make 
herself  beautiful  to  him  ?  What  had  he  done  — 
great  heavens  !  what  could  he  do,  to  deserve  or  to 
justify  the  innocent  coquetries  of  a  beloved  and 
loving  woman  ? 

Helen  pulled  the  hood  of  the  cloak  far  over  her 
head.  And  yet,  what  a  look  she  had !  The 
severity  and  simplicity  of  her  appearance  added 
to  the  gravity  of  her  face  a  charm  which  he  had 
never  seen  before.  How  womanly,  how  strong, 
how  rich  and  ripe  a  being !  He  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm  authoritatively.  She  did  not 
resent  this  trifling  act  of  mastery.  His  fingers 
trembled  ;  his  arm  shook  as  she  leaned  upon  it. 
They  struck  out  upon  the  meadow  path  in  the 
dark,  and,  for  a  moment,  neither  spoke.  Then 
he  said :  — 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  shall  wait 
till  we  have  sent  the  Professor  back." 

"That  will  be  better,"  said  Helen,  not  without 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  285 

embarrassment.  They  came  to  the  clam  study, 
and  he  waited  outside  while  she  said :  — 

"Come,  Papa!  Put  the  Unforgiven  in  your 
pocket,  and  go  back  to  the  fire !  Mr.  Bayard  and 
I  are  going  to  walk." 

The  Professor  meekly  obeyed,  and  Helen  locked 
the  door  of  the  fish-house,  and  put  the  key  in  her 
pocket. 

"  I  shall  give  it  to  Mr.  Salt  to-night,"  she  said. 
"  We  start  at  7.20.  Pepper  is  going  to  take  us 
over." 

These  trivial  words  staggered  Bayard's  self- 
control. 

"  You  always  leave  —  so  —  early !  "  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Does  that  make  it  any  worse  ? "  she  asked, 
trying  to  smite.  It  was  not  a  very  successful  smile, 
and  Bayard  saw  it.  They  were  approaching  the 
electric  arc  that  lighted  the  entrance  to  the  beach. 
The  cold,  light  lay  white  on  her  face.  Its  expres- 
sion startled  him. 

"  Everything  makes  it  worse !  "  he  groaned. 
"  It  is  as  bad  as  it  can  be !  " 

"  I  can  see  how  it  might  have  been  worse,"  said 
Helen. 

"That's  more  than  I  can  do.  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  I  would  rather  not  tell  you,"  replied  Helen 
with  gentle  dignity. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  mean  !  " 

He  turned  about  and  lifted  her  averted  face ;  he 


286  A   SINGULAR  LIFE, 

touched  her  with  the  tip  of  one  trembling  finger 
under  the  chin. 

"  I  prefer  not  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Bayard." 

She  did  not  flush,  nor  blush.  Her  eyes  met  his 
steadily.  Something  in  them  sent  the  mad  color 
racing  across  his  face. 

" Forgive  me!  I  have  no  right  to  insist  —  I 
forgot  —  I  have  none  to  anything.  I  have  no 
right  to  hear  —  to  see  —  anything.  God  have 
mercy  upon  me !  " 

He  put  out  his  shaking  hand,  and  gently  covered 
with  it  her  uplifted  eyes;  veiling  from  his  own 
gaze  the  most  sacred  sight  on  earth.  It  was  a 
beautiful  act,  and  so  delicately  done  that  Helen 
felt  as  if  a  spirit  had  touched  her. 

But  when  she  came  to  herself,  and  gave  him  her 
eyes  again,  with  their  accustomed,  calm,  feminine 
disguise,  she  saw  no  spirit,  but  the  passionate  face 
of  a  man  who  loved  her  and  despaired  of  her  as 
she  had  seen  no  man  love  or  despair  before. 

"I  cannot  even  ask  for  the  chance  to  try"  he 
cried.  "  I  am  as  much  shut  out  as  a  beggar  in  the 
street.  I  ought  to  be  as  dumb  before  you  as  the 
thousand-years'  dead  !  And  yet,  God  help  me  —  I 
am  a  live  man  and  I  love  you.  I  have  no  right  to 
seek  a  right  —  I  wrong  you  and  myself  by  every 
word  I  say,  by  every  moment  I  spend  in  your  pre- 
sence. Good-by !  "  he  said  with  cruel  abruptness, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

Helen  did  not  take  it.  She  turned  her  back  to 
the  great  arc,  and  looked  out  to  sea.  Her  figure. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE,  287 

in  its  hooded  cloak,  stood  strongly  against  the  cold, 
white  light.  The  tide  rose  upon  the  deserted  beach 
insistently.  The  breakers  roared  on  the  distant 
shore. 

"You  must  see  —  you  must  understand/5  he 
groaned.  "  I  arn  a  poor  man  —  poorer  than  you  ever 
took  the  trouble  to  think.  A  heretic,  unpopular, 
out  of  the  world,  an  obscure,  struggling  fellow, 
slighted,  forgotten  —  no  friends  but  a  handful  of 
fishermen  and  drunkards  —  and  living  on — what 
do  you  suppose  my  salary  is  ?  " 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  to  suppose,"  said 
Helen,  lifting  her  head  proudly, 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  a  year  ;  to  be  collected  if 
possible,  to  be  dispensed  with  if  necessary." 

He  jerked  the  words  out  bitterly.  His  fancy, 
with  terrible  distinctness,  took  forbidden  photo- 
graphs by  flashlight.  He  saw  this  daughter  of 
conventional  Cesarea,  this  child  of  ease  and  indul- 
gence, living  at  Mrs.  Granite's,  boarding  on  prunes 
and  green  tea.  He  saw  her  trying  to  shake  down 
the  coal  fire  on  a  January  day,  while  he  was  out 
making  parish  calls  ;  sitting  in  the  bony  rocking- 
chair  with  the  turkey-red  cushion,  beside  the 
screen  where  the  paper  Cupid  forever  tasted  un- 
eaten fruit.  He  saw  the  severe  Saint  Michael 
looking  down  from  the  wall  on  that  young,  warm 
woman-creature.  He  saw  her  sweep  across  the  old, 
darned  carpet  in  her  purple  robes,  with  gold  at  her 
throat  and  wrists.  He  saw  her  lift  her  soft  arms. 
He  saw  —  Now  he  put  his  hands  before  his  own 
eyes. 


288  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Oh,  do  not  suffer  so  ! "  said  Helen,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice,  "Do  not,  do  not  mind  it  —  so  much! 
It  —  it  breaks  my  heart !  " 

These  timid,  womanly  words  recalled  Bayard  to 
himself. 

"  Before  I  break  your  heart,"  he  cried,  "  1  ought 
to  be  sawn  asunder ! 

"...  Let  us  talk  of  this  a  little,"  he  said  in  a 
changed  tone.  "  Just  a  word.  You  must  see  — 
you  must  understand  my  position.  What  another 
man  would  say,  in  my  place,  I  cannot  say  —  to  any 
woman.  What  I  would  die  for  the  right  to  ask,  I 
may  not  ask." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Helen  almost  inaudibly. 

She  still  stood  with  her  back  to  the  light,  and 
her  face  to  the  sea. 

"  I  love  you !  I  love  you !  "  he  repeated.  "  It  is 
because  I  love  you  —  Oh,  do  you  see  ?  Can  you 
see?" 

Helen  made  no  reply.  Was  it  possible  that 
she  dared  not  trust  herself,  at  that  moment,  to 
articulate?  Her  silence  seemed  to  the  tortured 
man  more  cruel  than  the  bitterest  word  which  ever 
fell  from  the  lip  of  a  proud  and  injured  woman. 

Now  again  the  camera  of  his  whirling  brain 
took  instantaneous  negatives.  He  saw  himself 
doing  what  other  men  had  done  before  him  :  aban- 
doning a  doubtful  experiment  of  the  conscience  to 
win  a  woman's  love.  He  saw  himself  chopping 
the  treadmill  of  his  unpopular,  unsuccessful  work 
to  chips;  a  few  strong  blows  would  do  it;  the 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  289 

discouraged  people  would  merge  themselves  in  the 
respectable  churches ;  the  ripples  that  he  had 
raised  in  the  fishing-town  would  close  over,  and 
his  submerged  work  would  sink  to  the  bottom  and 
leave  no  sign.  A  few  reformed  drunkards  would 
go  on  a  spree  ;  a  few  fishermen  would  feel  neglected 
for  awhile  :  the  scarlet  and  white  fires  of  the  Church 
of  the  Love  of  Christ  would  go  out  on  Angel 
Alley.  In  a  year  Windover  would  be  what  Wind- 
over  was.  .  The  eye  of  the  great  Christ  would 
gaze  no  more  upon  him  through  the  veil  of  coarse 
gauze  ',  while  he  —  free  —  a  new  man  —  with  life 
before  him,  like  other  men,  and  the  right  to  love 
—  like  any  other  man  — 

"  That"  he  said  solemnly,  as  if  he  had  spoken 
aloud,  "  is  impossible.  There  could  be  only  that 
one  way,  I  cannot  take  it." 

"No,"  she  said,  lifting  her  head,  as  if  he  had 
explained  it  all  to  her ;  "  no.  You  could  never 
do  that.  I  would  not  have  you  do  that  for  —  for 
all  that  could  happen  —  for  —  "  she  faltered. 

"  Great  God  !  "  thought  Bayartf,  "  and  I  cannot 
even  ask  her  how  much  she  cares  —  if  she  could 
ever  learn  or  try  to  love  me." 

He  felt  suddenly  a  strange  weakness.  He  leaned 
against  a  boulder  for  support,  coughing  painfully  c 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  inwardly  bleeding 
to  death. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Helen,  turning  about  swiftly  and 
showing  her  own  white  face.  "  You  are  not  well 
' —  you  suffer.  This  will  not  —  must  not  —  I  can- 


290  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

not  bear  it !  "  she  said  bravely,  but  with  a  quivering 
lip.  "  Give  me  your  arm,  Mr.  Bayard,  and  let  us 
get  home." 

He  obeyed  her  in  silence.  He  felt,  in  truth,  too 
spent  to  speak.  They  got  back  to  the  door  of  the 
cottage,  and  Helen  led  him  in.  Her  father  was 
not  in  the  parlor,  and  her  mother  had  gone  to  bed, 
The  fire  had  fallen  to  embers.  Helen  motioned 
him  to  an  easy-chair,  and  knelt,  coaxing  the  blaze, 
and  throwing  on  pine  wood  to  start  it.  She  looked 
so  womanly,  so  gentle,  so  home-like,  and  love-like, 
on  her  knees  in  the  firelight  there,  caring  for  the 
comfort  of  the  exhausted  man,  that  the  sight 
was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  covered  his 
eyes. 

"  The  fire  flares  so,  coming  in  from  the  dark," 
he  said. 

She  stepped  softly  about,  and  brought  him  wine 
and  crackers,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"  My  little  tea-urn  is  packed,"  she  said,  smiling, 
trying  to  look  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  "  I 
would  have  made,  you  such  a  cup  of  tea  as  you 
never  tasted ! " 

"Spare  me!"  he  pleaded,  "  Don't  you  suppose 
I  know  that  ?  " 

He  rose  manfully,  as  soon  as  he  could.  She 
stood  in  the  firelight,  looking  up.  A  quiver  passed 
over  her  delicate  chin.  He  held  out  his  hand, 
She  put  her  strong,  warm  clasp  within  it. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  trusted  you,"  she  said  dis- 
tinctly. "  Believe  me,  and  go  in  peace." 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  291 

t 
"  I  don't  know  another  woman  in  the  world  who 

!  "  cried  Bayard. 

"  Then  let  me  be  that  only  one,"  she  answered. 
"  I  am  proud  to  be." 

He  could  not  reply.     They  stood  with  clasped 
hands.     Their  eyes  did  not  embrace,  but  comrade     i 
ship  entered  them. 

"  You  will  let  me  write  ?  "  he  pleaded,  at  last. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  see  you  — sometimes." 

"Yes." 

"  And  trust  me  —  in  spite  of  all  ?  " 

"  I  have  said  it." 

"  My  blessing  is  n't  worth  much,"  he  said 
brokenly,  "  but  for  what  it  is  —  Oh,  my  Love, 
God  go  with  you  !  " 

"  And  stay  with  you !  "  she  whispered. 

He  laid  her  hand  gently  down,  and  turned 
away.  She  heard  him  shut  the  door,  and  walk 
feebly,  coughing,  up  the  avenue.  He  looked  back, 
once.  He  saw  her  standing  between  the  lace  cur- 
tains with  her  arms  upraised,  and  her  hand  above 
her  eyes,  steadily  looking  out  into  the  dark. 


XX. 

So  Ernanuel  Bayard  entered  into  his  Wilderness. 
Therein  he  was  tempted  like  other  men  of  God  who 
renounce  the  greatest  joy  of  life  for  its  grandest 
duty.  There  he  thirsted  and  hungered,  and  put 
forth  no  hand  towards  the  meat  or  drink  of  human 
comfort ;  there  he  contended  with  himself,  and  hid 
his  face,  for  he  went  into  solitary  places,  and  prayed 
apart,  asking  for  that  second  strength  which  sus- 
tains a  man  in  the  keeping  of  the  vow  that  he  has 
not  feared  to  take  upon  his  soul  —  not  knowing,  till 
God  teaches  him,  how  easy  it  is  to  recognize,  and 
how  hard  to  hold,  "  the  highest  when  we  see  it." 

Winter  drew  its  yoke  of  ice  about  the  shrinking 
shoulders  of  the  Cape ;  the  fleets  huddled  in  the 
harbor ;  the  fishermen  drowned  on  the  Grand 
Banks ;  Windover  shivered  and  shriveled,  and 
looked  with  wincing,  winking  eyes  upon  the  blind- 
ing horizon  of  the  winter  sea  ;  the  breakers  broke 
in  white  fire  upon  the  bar;  Angel  Alley  drank 
and  cursed  to  keep  warm;  and  the  young 
preacher's  delicate  face,  patiently  passing  in  and 
out  beneath  the  white  and  scarlet  lights  of  the 
chapel  of  Christlove,  gathered  a  snowdrift  of  its 
own  with  the  whitening  of  the  year. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  293 

His  work,  like  most  service  sustained  in  conse- 
cration and  in  common  sense  by  one  pure  and 
strong  personality,  grew  upon  his  hands ;  not 
steadily,  but  by  means  of  much  apparent  failure. 

The  fame  of  the  heretic  missionary  had  gone 
abroad  as  such  things  do.  It  was  no  uncommon 
thing  for  members  of  the  strictest  sect  of  the  Or- 
thodox churches  to  stand  half  curious,  half  defer- 
ent, and  wholly  perplexed  by  what  they  saw  and 
heard,  and  calculating  the  prospects  of  an  experi- 
ment which  the  observer  was,  as  a  rule,  too  wise  a 
man  or  too  good  a  woman  not  to  respect. 

It  even  happened  now  and  then  that  some  dis- 
tinguished clergyman  was  seen  jammed  between  a 
fisherman  and  a  drunkard  in  the  crush  by  the  door ; 
taking  notes  of  the  sermon,  studying  the  man  and 
his  methods  with  the  humility  characteristic  of 
large  men,  and  seldom  imitated  by  little  ones. 

The  Reverend  George  Fenton  was  not,  but  would 
have  liked  to  be,  one  of  these  eminent  and  docile 
clerical  visitors  at  the  chapel  of  Christlove.  He 
dared  not  leave  his  congregation,  decorously  scat- 
tered to  listen  to  a  sound  theology,  in  the  pews  of 
the  old  First  Church,  to  elbow  his  unnoticed  way 
among  the  publicans  and  sinners  who  thronged 
his  classmate's  mission  ;  but  he  often  wished  he 
could.  He  asked  himself  anxiously :  "  What  is 
the  secret  ?  How  does  the  man  do  it  ?  "  Some- 
times he  envied  his  heretic  friend  the  drunkards, 
and  sailors,  the  reckless  girls,  and  most  of  all 
the  fishermen,  sacred  in  the  canon  and  to  the  ima- 


294  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

gination  of  the  church,  —  the  fishermen,  once  the 
chosen  friends  of  Our  Lord. 

Bayard  even  fancied  that  Fenton  looked  at  him 
a  little  wistfully;  and  that  he  spoke  with  him 
oftener  and  lingered  longer  when  they  met  upon 
the  streets  of  the  sad  and  tempted  town  whose  re- 
demption both  men,  each  in  his  own  way,  desired 
and  sought,  with  a  sincerity  which  this  biography 
would  not  intimate  was  to  be  found  only  in  the 
heart  of  its  subject,  and  hero.  For  the  Reverend 
George  Fenton  was  no  hypocrite,  or  Pharisee  ;  the 
prevailing  qualities  of  his  class  not  being  of  this 
sort.  No  one  rated  him  more  generously  than  his 
heretic  classmate ;  or  looked  more  gently  upon  the 
respectable,  dreary  effort  to  save  the  world  by  an 
outgrown  method,  which  the  conformer  dutifully 
and  comfortably  sustained. 

"  I  heard  a  Boston  man  call  you  the  Father 
Taylor  of  Windover,"  one  day  abruptly  said  the 
clergyman  to  the  missionary,  upon  the  post-office 
steps.  "  Boston  could  no  farther  go,  I  take  it,  I 
hear  your  audience  has  outgrown  your  mission- 
room.  That  must  be  a  great  encouragement ;  yon 
must  consider  it  a  divine  leading,"  added  Fenton, 
with  the  touch  of  professional  slang  and  jealousy 
not  unnatural  to  better  men  than  he.  "  But  you 
must  remember  that  we,  too,  are  following  the 
Master  in  our  way ;  it 's  a  pretty  old  and  useful 
way." 

Then  up  spoke  Captain  Hap,  who  stood  at  Bay- 
ard's elbow. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  295 

"  It 's  jest  about  here,  Mr.  Fenton.  You  folks 
set  out  to  f oiler  Him ;  but  our  minister,  he  lives 
like  Him.  There's  an  almig-hty  difference." 

Another  day,  Fenton,  with  his  young  wife  on 
his  arm,  came  down  Angel  Alley  with  the  air  of 
a  tourist  inspecting  the  points  of  interest  in  a  new 
vicinity. 

"  Bayard  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  you  look  as  white 
as  a  Cesarea  snowdrift.  You  are  overworked, 
man.  What  can  I  do,  to  help  you  ?  —  If  there 
is  anything,"  he  added  with  genuine  concern, 
"  you  'd  let  me  know,  would  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Probably  not,  Fenton,"  replied  Bayard,  smil- 
ing. 

"  I  mean  it,"  urged  the  other,  flushing. 

"If  you  do,  the  time  may  come,"  said  Bayard 
dreamily. 

He  glanced  at  his  old  friend,  —  the  rosy,  well- 
fed  man  ;  at  the  round  face  destitute  of  the  carving 
of  great  purpose  or  deep  anxiety ;  at  the  pretty 
girl  with  the  Berkshire  eyes  who  looked  adoringly 
over  the  sleek  elbow  to  which  she  clung.  These 
two  well-meaning,  commonplace  people  seemed 
ennobled  and  beautified,  as  commoner  far  than 
they  may  be,  by  their  human  love  and  happiness. 
Bayard,  in  his  shabby  clothes,  with  his  lonely  face, 
watched  them  with  a  certain  reverence. 

He  thought  —  but  when  did  he  not  think  of 
Helen? 

He  wrote ;  she  answered ;  they  did  not  meet ; 
he  worked  on  patiently ;  and  the  winter  went. 


296  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Bayard  drowned  himself  in  his  work  with  the  new 
and  conscious  ardor  of  supreme  renunciation.  He 
thought  of  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  as  the  diver 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  when  the  pumps  refuse  to 
work,  thinks  of  sky  and  shore  and  sun,  of  air 
and  breath. 

One  bleak,  bright  February  night,  Bayard  came 
out  from  his  mission,  and  looked  about  Angel 
Alley  anxiously. 

Bob  was  within,  and  Tony  and  Jean  were  safe  ; 
Job  Slip  was  sober,  and  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry 
were  accounted  for.  But  Lena  —  Lena  had  not 
been  seen  at  Christlove  for  now  many  weeks. 

The  waywardness  of  the  girl  had  long  been  sore 
at  Bayard's  heart,  and  the  step  which  he  took  that 
night  was  the  result  of  thought  and  deliberate  pur- 
pose. Afterwards  he  was  glad  to  remember  that 
he  had  acted  on  no  one  of  those  mere  sentiments 
or  impulsive  whims  which  are  the  pitfalls  of  a 
philanthropic  life. 

The  hour  was  not  early,  decent  people  were 
scattering  to  their  homes,  and  Windover  was  giv- 
ing herself  over  to  the  creatures  of  the  night.  It 
was  a  windy  night,  and  the  snow  blew  in  cold, 
white  powder  from  the  surface  of  drifts  called 
heavy  for  the  coast,  and  considered  a  sign  of  "  a 
spell  of  weather." 

There  was  a  full  moon ;  and  the  harbor,  as  one 
looked  down  between  the  streets,  showed  in  glints 
and  glimpses,  bright  and  uneasy.  The  bellow  of 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  297 

the  whistling-buoy  nine  miles  out,  off  the  coast, 
was  audible  at  firesides.  The  wind  sped  straight 
from  Cape  Cod,  and  was  as  icy  as  death. 

It  was  one  of  the  nights  when  the  women  of 
Windover  grow  silent,  and  stand  at  the  window 
with  the  shade  raised,  looking  out  between  their 
hands,  with  anxious,  seaward  eyes.  "  God  pity  the 
men  at  sea !  "  they  say  who  have  no  men  at  sea,, 
But  those  who  have  say  nothing.  They  pray.  As 
the  night  wears  on,  and  the  gale  increases,  they 
weep.  They  do  not  sleep.  The  red  light  on 
the  Point  goes  out,  and  dawn  is  gray.  The  buoy 
shrieks  on  malignantly.  It  "  comes  on  thick  " ; 
and  the  fog-bell  begins  to  toll.  Its  mighty  lips 
utter  the  knell  f6r  all  the  unburied  drowned  that 
are,  and  have  been,  and  are  yet  to  be.  Windover 
listens  and  shudders.  It  is  one  of  the  nights  when 
the  sheltered  and  the  happy  and  the  clean  of  life 
bless  God  for  home,  for  peace,  for  fire  and  pillow. 
It  is  one  of  the  nights  when  the  soul  of  the  gale 
enters  into  the  soul  of  the  tempted  and  the  unbe- 
friended,  and  with  it  seven  devils  worse  than  the 
first.  It  was  one  of  the  nights  when  girls  like 
Lena  are  too  easy  or  too  hard  to  find. 

Bayard  sought  her  everywhere.  She  was  not  to 
be  seen  in  Angel  Alley,  and  he  systematically  and 
patiently  searched  the  town.  With  coat-collar 
turned  up,  and  hat  turned  down,  he  tried  to  keep 
warm,  but  the  night  was  deadly  bleak.  It  came 
on  to  be  eleven  o'clock  ;  half  past ;  and  mid- 
night approached.  He  was  about  to  abandon  his 


298  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

quest  when  he  struck  a  trace  of  her,  and  with 
redoubled  patience  he  hunted  it  down.  He  had 
taken  no  one  with  him  in  his  search  for  Lena ;  in 
truth,  he  knew  of  no  person  in  all  that  Christian 
town  who  would  have  wished  to  share  that  night's 
repulsive  errand  if  he  had  asked  it.  He  recog- 
nized this  fact  with  that  utter  absence  of  bitter- 
ness which  is  the  final  grace  and  test  of  dedication 
to  an  unselfish  end. 

"  Why  should  I  expect  it  ?  "  he  thought  gently. 
"  Duty  is  not  subject  to  a  common  denominator. 
This  is  mine  and  not  another's." 

A  policeman  gave  him,  at  last,  the  clew  he 
needed ;  and  Bayard,  who  had  returned  on  his 
track  to  Angel  Alley,  halted  before  the  door  of 
a  house  at  the  end  of  a  dark  court,  within  a  shell' s- 
throw  of  the  wharves.  His  duty  had  never  led 
him  before  into  precisely  such  a  place,  and  his 
soul  sickened  within  him.  He  hesitated,  with  his 
foot  on  the  steps. 

"  Better  stay  outside,  sir,"  suggested  the  police- 
man. 

Bayard  shook  his  head. 

"  Shan't  I  go  with  you,  sir  ?  You  don't  know 
what  you  're  about.  Better  have  an  officer  along." 

"  Stay  here,  within  call,  will  you  ?  "  answered 
Bayard.  "That  will  do.  The  law  can't  do  my 
errand." 

"Nor  nothin'  else  in  this  town  but  that"  re- 
turned the  officer,  touching  his  helmet. 

He  pointed  up  the  Alley  where  the  large  letters 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  299 

of  the  solemn  white  and  scarlet  sign  blazed  all  night 
before  the  chapel  of  Christlove.  The  fishermen 
could  see  it  from  their  schooners'  decks  as  they 
dropped  anchors;  and  it  shone  strangely  in  their 
weather-beaten  faces  as  they  pushed  past  —  or  sank 
into  —  the  doors  of  the  dens  that  lined  the  street 

Bayard's  eye  followed  the  officer's  finger,  light- 
ing with  that  solemn  radiance  peculiar  to  himself; 
and  with  this  illumination  on  his  face  he  entered 
the  place  whose  ways  take  hold  on  death. 

The  officer  waited  without.  In  an  incredibly 
short  time  the  minister  reappeared.  He  was  not 
alone.  Lena  followed  him  with  hanging  head. 

"Thank  you,  Sergeant,"  said  Bayard  quietly, 
touching  his  hat,  "  I  shall  need  you  no  longer." 

He  turned,  witl?  the  girl  beside  him,  and  crossed 
the  Alley.  The  officer,  with  a  low  whistle,  lingered 
a  moment,  and  watched  the  astounding  pair.  In 
the  full  moonlight,  in  the  sight  of  all  whom  it  did 
or  did  not  concern,  Bayard  walked  up  and  down 
the  street  with  Lena.  It  was  now  near  to  the 
stroke  of  midnight.  The  two  could  be  seen  con- 
versing earnestly.  Lena  did  not  raise  her  eyes. 
The  minister  watched  her  eagerly.  They  paced 
up  and  down.  Men  staggering  home  from  their 
sprees  stood  stupidly  and  stared  at  the  two.  Old 
Trawl  came  to  his  door  and  saw  them,  and  called 
Ben,  who  looked,  and  swore  the  mighty  oath  of 
utter  intellectual  confusion.  The  minister  nodded 
to  Ben,  and  spoke  once  or  twice  to  some  sailor  who 
awaited  salutation  ;  but  he  suffered  no  interruption 


300  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

of  his  interview  with  the  girl.  In  the  broad  moon« 
light  he  continued  quietly  to  walk  up  and  down 
Angel  Alley,  with  the  street-girl  at  his  side. 

"  Lena,"  Bayard  had  begun,  "  I  have  been  try- 
ing to  help  the  people  in  this  Alley  for  almost  a 
year  and  a  half,  and  I  have  met  with  nothing  to 
discourage  me  as  much  as  you  do.  Some  men  and 
women  have  grown  better,  and  some  have  not 
changed  at  all.  You  are  growing  worse." 

"  That 's  so,"  assented  Lena.  "  It 's  as  true  as 
Hell." 

"  I  begin  to  think,"  replied  the  minister,  "  that 
it  must  be  partly  my  fault.  It  seems  to  me  as  if 
I  must  have  failed,  somehow,  or  made  some  mis- 
take —  or  you  would  be  a  better  girl,  after  all  this 
time.  Do  you  think  of  anything  —  Come,  Lena ! 
Give  your  best  attention  to  the  subject  -  Do 
you  think  of  anything  that  I  could  do,  which  I 
have  not  done,  to  induce  you  to  be  a  decent 
woman  ?  " 

"  I  tried,  for  you !  "  muttered  Lena.  "  I  tried  ; 
you  know  I  did  I  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  did ;  and  I  appreciated  it. 
You  failed,  that  was  all.  You  are  discouraged, 
and  so  am  I.  Now,  tell  me  !  What  else  can  I 
do,  to  make  a  good  girl  of  you  ?  For  it 's  got  to  be 
done,  you  see,"  he  added  firmly.  "  I  can't  have 
this  any  longer.  You  disgrace  the  chapel,  and 
the  people,  and  me.  It  makes  me  unhappy,  Lena." 

"  Mr.  Bayard  !  Mr.  Bayard  !  "  said  Lena  with 
trembling  lip,  "  I  '11  go  drown  in  the  outer  harbor. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  301 

I  ain't  fit  to  live  ...  if  you  care.  I  didn't 
suppose  you  cared." 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  die,  Lena,"  returned  Bayard 
gently.  "  And  I  do  care.  I  have  always  thought 
you  were  born  to  be  a  fine  woman.  There  's  some- 
thing I  like  about  you.  You  are  generous,  and 
brave,  and  kind-hearted.  Then  see  what  a  voice 
you  have  !  You  might  have  been  a  singer,  Lena, 
and  sung  noble  things  —  the  music  that  makes 
people  purer  and  better.  You  might  have  "... 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  "  cried  Lena ;  "  I  was  singin'  in 
that  —  in  there  —  to-night.  They  're  always  after 
me  to  sing  'em  into  damnation." 

"  Lena,"  said  Bayard  in  a  thrilling  tone,  "  look 
into  my  face  !  " 

She  obeyed  him.  High  above  her  short  stature 
Bayard's  delicate  countenance  looked  down  at  the 
girl.  All  the  loathing,  all  the  horror,  all  the 
repulsion  that  was  in  him  for  the  sin  he  suffered 
the  sinner  to  see  for  the  first  time.  His  tender 
face  darkened  and  quivered,  shrinking  like  some 
live  thing  that  she  tormented. 

uOh,"  wailed  Lena,  uam  I  like  that  —  to  you? 
Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  as  bad  as  that,"  answered  the  minister 
solemnly. 

"Then  I'll  go  drown,"  said  Lena  dully;  "I 
might  as  well." 

"  No,"  he  said  quietly.  "  You  will  not  drown. 
You  will  live,  and  make  yourself  a  girl  whom  I 
can  respect." 


302  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Would  you  ever  respect  me  —  respect  ME,  if  1 
was  to  be  —  if  I  was  to  do  what  you  say  ?  "  asked 
Lena  in  a  low,  controlled  tone. 

"  I  should  respect  you  from  my  soul,"  said  Bay- 
ard. 

"  Would  you  — would  you  be  willing  to  —  would 
you  feel  ashamed  to  shake  hands  with  me,  Mr. 
Bayard,  — if  I  was  a  different  girl? " 

"  I  will  shake  hands  with  you  now,"  returned  the 
minister  quietly,  "  if  you  will  give  me  your  word 
of  honor  that  you  will  never,  from  this  hour  "  — 

"  I  will  never,  from  this  hour,  so  help  me  God !  " 
said  Lena  solemnly. 

"  So  help  her,  God  !  "  echoed  Bayard. 

He  lifted  his  hand  above  her  head,  as  if  in 
prayer  and  blessing  ;  then  gently  extended  it.  The 
girl's  cold,  purple  fingers  shook  as  he  touched 
them.  She  held  her  bare  hand  up  in  the  moon- 
Ijght,  as  if  to  bathe  it  in  whiteness. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,  sir,"  she  said  in  her  ordinary 
voice,  "  it  is  a  bargain." 

Bayard  winced,  in  spite  of  himself,  at  the  words ; 
but  he  looked  at  Lena's  face,  and  when  he  saw  its 
expression  he  felt  ashamed  of  his  own  recoil. 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered,  adopting  her  business- 
like tone,  "  so  it  is.  Now,  then,  Lena !  What 
next  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Have  you 
any  home  —  any  friends  —  anywhere  to  turn  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  friend  on  all  God's  earth  but  you, 
sir,"  said  Lena  drearily,  "  but  I  guess  I  '11  manage, 
somehow.  I  can  mostly  do  what  I  set  out  to." 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  303 

"  Your  mother  ?  "  asked  Bayard  gently. 

"  She  died  when  my  baby  was  born,  sir.  She 
died  of  the  shame  of  it.  I  was  fifteen  year  old.5' 

"  Oh  !  and  the  —  the  man  ?  The  father  of 
your  child  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  gentleman.  He  was  a  married  man. 
I  worked  for  him,  in  a  shop.  He  ain't  dead.  But 
I  'd  sooner  go  to  hell  than  look  to  him." 

"  I  'd  about  as  soon  you  would  "  —  the  minister 
said  in  his  heart.  But  his  lips  answered  only,  — 
"You  poor  girl !  You  poor,  poor,  miserable  girl!  " 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  Lena  broke  down,  and 
began  to  cry,  there,  on  the  streets,  in  the  sight  of 
every  one. 

"I  must  find  you  work  —  shelter  —  home  —  with 
some  lady.  I  will  do  whatever  can  be  done.  Rely 
on  me  !  "  cried  Bayard  helplessly. 

He  began  to  realize  what  he  had  done,  in  under- 
taking Lena's  "  case  "  without  the  help  of  a  woman. 
Confusedly  he  ran  over  in  his  mind  the  names  of 
the  Christian  women  whom  he  knew,  to  whom  he 
could  turn  in  this  emergency.  He  thought  of  Helen 
Carruth  ;  but  an  image  of  the  Professor's  wife,  her 
mother,  being  asked  to  introduce  Lena  into  the 
domestic  machinery  of  a  Cesarea  household,  half 
amused  and  half  embittered  him.  He  remembered 
the  wife  of  his  church  treasurer,  a  kindly  woman, 
trained  now  to  doing  the  unexpected  for  Christ's 
sake. 

"  I  will  speak  to  Mrs.  Bond.  I  will  consider 
the  matter.  Perhaps  there  may  be  some  position 


304  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

—  some  form  of  household  service,"  he  ventured, 
with  the  groping  masculine  idea  that  a  domestic 
career  was  the  only  one  open  to  a  girl  like  Lena. 

Then  Lena  laughed. 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  But  I  ain't  no  more  fit  for 
housework  than  I  be  for  a  jeweler's  trade,  or  floss 
embroidery,  or  a  front  pew  in  Heaven.  There 
ain't  a  lady  in  Christendom  would  put  up  with 
me.  I  wouldn't  like  it,  either,"  said  Lena  can- 
didly. "  There  's  only  one  thing  I  would  like. 
It 's  just  come  over  me,  standin'  here.  I  guess  I  '11 
manage." 

"  I  shall  wish  to  know,"  observed  Bayard  anx- 
iously, "  what  you  are  going  to  do,  and  where  you 
will  be." 

"  I  '11  take  a  room  I  know  of,"  said  Lena.  "  It 
ain't  in  Angel  Alley.  It 's  a  decent  place.  I  '11 
get  Johnny's  mother  to  come  along  o'  me.  She 's 
dead  sick  of  the  Widders'  Home.  She  's  kinder 
fond  of  me,  Johnny's  mother  is,  and  she  can  take 
in  or  go  out,  to  help  a  bit.  Then  I  '11  go  over  to 
the  powder  factory." 

"The  powder  factory?"  echoed  the  puzzled 
pastor. 

"The  gunpowder  factory,  over  to  the  Cut," 
said  Lena.  "  They  're  kinder  short  of  hands. 
It  ain't  a  popular  business.  The  pay 's  good,  and 
Lord,  /  should  n't  care !  The  sooner  I  blow  up, 
the  safer  I  '11  be.  I  guess  I  'd  like  it,  too.  I 
always  thought  I  should." 

"Very    well,"    said    the    minister    helplessly. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  305 

"That  may  answer,  till  we  can  find  something 
better." 

It  was  now  past  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  night 
was  growing  bitterly  cold.  Bayard  said  good-night 
to  Lena,  and  they  separated  opposite  Trawl's 
ioor. 

He  went  shivering  home,  and  stirred  up  his  fire. 
He  was  cold  to  the  heart.  That  discreet  after- 
thought which  is  the  enemy  of  too  many  of  our 
noble  decisions,  tormented  him.  He  turned  to  his 
books,  and  taking  one  which  was  lying  open  upon 
the  study-table  read:  — 

"  He  spoke  much  about  the  wrongs  of  women ; 
and  it  is  very  touching  to  know  that  during  the 
last  year  of  his  life  he  frequently  went  forth  at 
night,  and  endeavored  to  redeem  the  fallen  women 
of  Brighton."  .  .  . 

It  was  not  three  days  from  this  time  that  Captain 
Hap  approached  the  minister  on  the  Alley,  with 
a  sober  and  anxious  face.  He  held  in  his  hand 
a  copy  of  the  "  Windover  Topsail."  His  rough 
finger  trembled  as  it  pressed  the  paragraph  which 
he  handed  in  silence  for  Bayard  to  read :  — 

"  We  regret  to  learn  that  a  certain  prominent 
citizen  of  this  place  who  has  been  laboring  among 
the  sailors  and  fishermen  in  a  quasi-clerical  capacity, 
is  so  unfortunate  as  to  find  his  name  associated 
with  a  most  unpleasant  scandal  arising  out  of  his 
acquaintance  with  the  disreputable  women  of  the 
district  in  which  he  labors.  We  wish  the  Rev- 
erend gentleman  well  out  of  his  scrape,  but  may 


306  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

take  occasion  to  suggest  that  such  self -elected  cen- 
sors of  our  society  and  institutions  must  learn 
somehow  that  they  cannot  touch  pitch  and  not  be 
defiled,  any  more  than  ordinary  men  who  do  not 
make  their  pretensions  to  holiness." 

"Well?"  said  Bayard,  quietly  returning  the 
paper. 

Job  Slip  had  joined  them,  and  read  the  para- 
graph over  the  Captain's  shoulder.  Job  was  white 
to  the  lips  with  the  virile  rage  of  a  man  of  the  sea. 

"  I  've  shipped  here,  and  I  've  coasted  there,  and 
I  've  sailed  eenymost  around  the  world,"  slowly 
said  Captain  Hap.  "  I  never  in  my  life  —  and  I  'm 
comin'  on  seventy-five  year  old  —  I  never  knew 
no  town  I  would  n't  d'ruther  see  a  scandal  a-goin' 
in,  than  this  here.  It 's  Hell  let  loose  on  ye," 
added  the  Captain  grimly. 

44  Find  me  the  fellar  that  put  up  that  job ! " 
roared  Job  Slip,  rolling  up  his  sleeves. 

"  He  ain't  fur  to  seek,"  answered  the  Captain 
with  a  short  laugh. 

"He's  the  devil  and  all  his  angels  smithered 
into  one !  "  raved  Job. 

44  That 's  drawrin'  of  it  mild,"  said  Captain  Hap. 

44  This  —  low  —  matter  does  not  trouble  me," 
observed  Bayard,  smiling  with  genuine  and  beauti- 
ful remoteness. 

44  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Captain  Hap ;  "  that 's 
all  you  know  1 " 


XXi. 

CAPTAIN  HAP  was  wiser  in  his  generation  thac 
the  child  of  light.  Before  a  week  had  gone  by. 
Bayard  found  himself  the  victim  of  one  of  the 
cruelest  forms  of  human  persecution  —  the  scan- 
dal of  a  provincial  town. 

Its  full  force  fell  suddenly  upon  him. 

Now,  this  was  the  one  thing  for  which  he  was 
totally  unprepared ;  of  every  other  kind  of 
martyrdom,  it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  recognized 
the  possibility :  this  had  never  entered  his  mind. 

He  accepted  it  with  that  outward  serenity  which 
means  in  a  man  of  his  temperament  the  costliest 
expenditure  of  inward  vitality,  and,  turning  neither 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  kept  on  his  way. 

Averted  looks  avoided  him  upon  the  streets. 
Cold  glances  sought  him  in  Angel  Alley.  Sus- 
picion lurked  in  eyes  that  had  always  met  him 
cordially.  Hands  were  withdrawn  that  had  never 
failed  to  meet  his  heartily.  His  ears  quivered 
with  comments  overheard  as  he  passed  through 
groups  upon  the  business  streets.  The  more 
public  and  the  more  respectable  the  place,  the 
worse  his  reception.  He  came  quickly  into  the 
habit  of  avoiding,  when  he  could,  the  better  por- 
tions of  the  town. 

Before  he  had  time  to  determine  on  any  given 


308  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

course  of  conduct,  he  felt  himself  hunted  down 
into  Angel  Alley,  like  other  outcasts. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Fenton  in  this  crisis  did 
what  appealed  to  him  as  a  praiseworthy  deed.  He 
came  down  to  the  chapel,  and,  in  the  eyes  of 
Angel  Alley  sought  his  classmate  boldly.  Give 
him  the  credit  of  the  act ;  it  meant  more  than  we 
may  readily  distinguish. 

Men  who  conform,  who  live  like  other  men, 
who  think  in  the  accustomed  channels,  are  not  to 
be  judged  by  the  standard  which  we  hold  before 
our  heroes.  He  held  out  his  hand  to  Bayard  with 
some  unnecessary  effusion. 

"  My  dear  fellow !  "  he  murmured,  "  this  is  really 
—  you  know  —  I  came  to  —  express  my  sympathy." 

"  Thank  you,  Fenton,"  said  Bayard  quietly. 

He  said  nothing  mere,  and  Fenton  looked  embar- 
rassed. He  had  prepared  himself  at  some  length 
to  go  into  the  subject.  He  felt  that  Bayard's 
natural  indiscretion  needed  the  check  which  it  had 
probably  now  received,  for  life.  But  he  found 
himself  unable  to  say  anything  of  the  kind.  The 
words  shriveled  on  his  tongue.  His  own  eyes  fell 
before  Bayard's  high  look.  A  spectator  might 
have  thought  their  positions  to  be  reversed ;  that 
the  clergyman  was  the  culprit,  and  the  slandered 
missionary  the  judge  and  patron.  Fenton  was  un- 
comfortable, and,  after  a  few  meaningless  words, 
he  said  good-morning,  and  turned  away. 

"  Of  course,"  he  observed,  as  he  went  down  the 
long  steps  of  the  mission,  "you  will  meet  this 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  309 

slander  by  some  explanation,  or  change  of  tack? 
You  will  adapt  your  course  hereafter  to  the  cir- 
cumstances ?  " 

"  I  shall  explain  nothing,  and  change  nothing,^ 
answered  Bayard  calmly.  "  I  should  do  the  same 
thing  over  again  to-morrow,  if  I  had  it  to  do.  I 
have  committed  no  imprudence,  and  I  shall  stoop 
to  no  apology.  I  doubt  if  there  are  six  civilized 
places  in  this  country  where  an  honest  man  in  my 
position,  doing  my  work,  would  have  been  sub- 
jected to  the  consequences  which  have  befallen  a 
simple  deed  of  Christian  mercy  such  as  has  been 
done  by  scores  of  better  men  than  I,  before  me. 
Why,  it  has  not  even  the  merit  —  or  demerit  — 
of  originality !  I  did  not  invent  the  salvation  of 
the  Magdalene.  Tha^  dates  back  about  two  thou- 
sand years.  It  takes  a  pretty  low  mind  to  slander 
a  man  for  it." 

This  was  the  only  bitter  thing  he  was  heard  to 
say.  It  may  be  pardoned  him.  It  silenced  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Fenton,  and  he  departed  thought 
fully  from  Angel  Alley. 

As  Bayard  looked  back  upon  these  lonely  days, 
when  the  fury  of  the  storm  which  swept  about  his 
ears  had  subsided,  as  such  social  tornadoes  do,  he 
perceived  that  the  thing  from  which  he  had 
suffered  most  keenly  was  the  disapproval  of  his 
own  people.  Wrong  him  they  did  not,  because 
they  could  not.  They  might  as  easily  have 
smirched  the  name  and  memory  of  the  beloved 
disciple.  But  criticise  him  they  did,  poor  souls/ 


310  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

Windover  gossip,  the  ultimatum  of  their  narrow 
lives,  seemed  to  them  to  partake  of  the  finalities 
of  death  and  the  judgment.  The  treasurer  of  the 
society  was  troubled. 

"  We  must  reef  to  the  breeze  !  we  must  reef  to 
the  breeze  !  "  he  repeated  mournfully.  "  But, 
my  dear  sir,  you  must  allow  me  to  say  that  I 
think  it  would  have  been  better  seamanship  to 
have  avoided  it  altogether." 

"  What  would  you  have  had  me  do,  Mr.  Bond  ?  " 
asked  Bayard,  looking  rather  pale.  "  I  am  sorry 
to  disappoint  you.  The  love  and  trust  of  my  own 
people  is  all  I  have,"  he  faltered. 

"  Some  witness,  for  instance,"  suggested  Mr. 
Bond.  "  To  be  sure,  you  did  call  on  the  police,  I 
am  told." 

"All  Angel  Alley  "was  my  witness,"  returned 
Bayard,  recovering  his  self-possession. 

"  Some  woman,  then  —  some  lady  ?  " 

"  Name  the  woman.  I  thought  of  summoning 
your  wife.  Should  you  have  let  her  go  on  such 
an  errand,  on  such  a  night,  at  such  an  hour,  and 
under  such  conditions  ?  " 

"I  ought  to  have  let  her  go,"  answered  the 
officer  of  the  heretic  church,  honestly.  "  I  'm  not 
sure  that  I  should." 

He  looked  perplexed,  but  none  the  less 
troubled  for  that,  and  sighed  as  he  shook  hands 
with  his  pastor.  Mrs.  Bond  took  her  husband's 
arm,  and  walked  away  with  him.  "  I  would  have 
done  it,  John,"  she  said.  But  she  was  crying;  so 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  311 

was  Mrs.  Granite.  Jane's  face  was  white  and 
scared.  Captain  Hap  was  very  sober.  Job  Slip 
was  significantly  silent.  Rumor  had  it,  that  a 
fight  was  brewing  between  Job  and  the  Trawls. 
Job's  anger,  if  thoroughly  aroused,  was  a  serious 
affair.  Bayard  felt  the  discomfort  and  annoyance 
of  his  people  acutely.  He  went  away  alone,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  winter  coast,  for  miles  and 
hours,  trying  to  regain  himself  in  solitude  and  the 
breath  of  the  sea.  For  some  time  he  found  it 
impossible  to  think  coherently.  A  few  words  got 
the  ring  of  his  mind,  and  shook  it :  — 

"  From  that  time  many  of  His  disciples  went 
back,  and  walked  no  more  with  Him." 

Usually  in  such  a  situation,  some  one  trivial 
occurrence  fixes  itself  upon  the  sore  imagination 
of  a  man  and  galls  him  above  all  the  really  impor- 
tant aspects  of  his  misfortune.  This  trifle  came 
to  Bayard  in  the  reception  of  a  letter  from  the 
girl  herself. 

DEAR  SIR,  MR.  BAYARD  :  My  hart  will  brake 
to  think  I  cause  you  shame  for  savin  of  a  poor  girl. 
I  see  that  peece  in  the  paper.  It  aint  far  to  gess 
who  done  it.  If  it  wasnt  for  disgrasin  you  Ide 
kill  Ben  Trawl  tonite.  I  wouldnt  mind  hangin. 
I  know  how  Ide  do  it  too.  But  dont  you  trubble 
I  wont  shame  you  no  more.  I'll  clare  out  all- 
together.  So  good-bye  and  God  bless  you  Sir. 

This  is  from,     Yours  respictfully,          LENA. 


312  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Bayard's  reply  to  Lena's  note  was  to  go  straight 
to  the  gunpowder  factory,  and  speak  with  the  girl. 
The  superintendent  stood  by,  and  overheard  him 
say,  in  a  commanding  tone :  — 

"  Lena,  you  will  not  leave  this  town.  You  will 
come  to  the  chapel  as  usual.  You  will  sing  with 
us  next  Sunday.  You  will  pay  no  attention  to 
anything  that  you  hear,  or  see.  You  will  never 
suffer  yourself  even  to  suppose  that  any  base,  low 
mind  or  tongue  can  injure  your  pastor.  You  will 
do  as  I  bid  you,  and  you  will  become  the  woman 
you  promised  to.  You  will  do  this  with  my  help 
or  without  it.  Anything  may  happen  to  a  person. 
Nothing  can  undo  a  promise." 

"  Mr.  Bayard,  sir,"  saidJLena,  forcing  back  her 
tears,  for  she  was  not  a  crying  girl,  "  I  'm  a  girl 
of  my  word,  and  I  ain't  goin'  back  on  you.  But 
there's  one  thing  I've  got  to  say.  Mebbe  I 
should  n't  have  another  chance,  bein'  things  are  as 
they  be.  I  did  want  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Bayard,  sir 
if  I  was  to  be  a  good  girl  long  enough,  —  as  long 
as  you  should  set  the  time  to  make  me  fit,  —  do 
you  suppose,  Mr.  Bayard,  you  would  ever  feel  so 
as  if  you  could  touch  your  hat  to  me  —  same  a& 
you  do  to  decent  girls  ?  " 

The  superintendent  of  the  powder  factory 
brushed  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  Bayard  was 
much  moved. 

The  dark,  little  figure  of  the  girl,  in  her  work- 
ing-clothes, standing  stolidly  at  her  post  in  the 
most  dangerous  of  the  deadly  trades,  wherein  no 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  313 

"  hand "  can  insure  his  life,  blurred  before  the 
minister.  He  thought  how  little  life  could  mean 
to  Lena,  at  its  kindest  and  best. 

"  When  the  time  comes,"  he  said  gently,  "  I 
shall  lift  my  hat  to  you." 

"  That 's  worth  while,"  said  Lena  in  her  short, 
forcible  way.  She  turned  and  went  back  to  her 
work. 

The  factory  seemed  to  throb  with  the  struggle 
of  imprisoned  death  to  burst  its  bars.  Bayard 
came  out  into  the  air  with  the  long  breath  which 
the  bravest  man  always  drew  when  he  left  the 
buildings. 

These  incidents  (which  are  events  to  the  solitary, 
missionary  life)  were  but  two  days  old  when  Joey 
Slip  climbed  the  minister's  stairs,  sobbing  dolor- 
ously. 

Rumor  was  running  in  Windover  that  Job  was 
drunk  again.  Neither  the  child  nor  the  wife  could 
say  if  truth  were  in  it,  for  neither  had  seen  the 
man  since  yesterday.  But  Mari  had  dispatched 
the  boy  to  the  minister  with  the  miserable  news. 
With  a  smothered  exclamation  which  Joey  found 
it  impossible  to  translate,  Bayard  snatched  the 
child's  hand,  and  set  forth.  His  face  wore  a 
terrible  look.  He  reached  the  wharves  in  time  to 
come  directly  upon  Job,  the  centre  of  a  ring  of 
jeering  roughs.  Muddy,  wet,  torn,  splashed  with 
slime  from  the  docks,  hatless  and  raving,  Job  was 
doing  his  maudlin  best  to  fight  Ben  TrawlT  who 
stood  at  a  safe  distance,  smiling  with  the  cynicism 


314  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

of  a  rumseller  who  never  drinks.  Job  —  poor 
Job,  the  "reformed  man";  Job,  who  had  fought 
harder  for  his  manhood  than  most  sober  men  ever 
fight  for  anything  from  the  baby's  crib  to  the 
broadcloth  casket ;  Job,  the  "  pillar "  of  Christ- 
love  mission,  the  pride  and  pet  of  the  struggling 
people ;  Job,  the  one  sure  comfort  of  his  pastor's 
most  discouraged  hour,  —  Job  stood  there,  abased 
and  hideous. 

He  had  lived  one  splendid  year;  he  had  done 
one  glorious  thing ;  he  had  achieved  that  for  which 
better  men  than  he  should  take  off  their  hats  to 
him.  And  there  —  Bayard  looked  at  him  once, 
and  covered  his  face. 

Job  recognized  him,  and,  frenzied  as  he  was, 
sunk  upon  his  knees  in  the  mud,  and  crawled 
towards  the  minister,  piteously  holding  up  his 
hands.  One  must  have  been  in  Job's  place,  or 
in  Bayard's,  to  understand  what  that  moment  was 
to  these  two  men. 

In  the  paltry  scenes  of  what  we  call  the  society 
of  the  world,  there  are  no  actors  who  should  criti- 
cise, as  there  are  few  who  can  comprehend  the 
roles  of  this  plain  and  common  tragedy. 

With  the  eyes  of  a  condemning  angel,  Bayard 
strode  into  the  group,  and  took  Job  home. 

"  It 's  clear  D.  T.,"  said  Captain  Hap  between 
his  teeth. 

Bayard  sent  for  a  doctor,  who  prescribed  chloral, 
and  said  the  case  was  serious.  Mari  put  on  a  clean 
apron,  and  dusted  up  the  rooms,  and  reinforced  the 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  315 

minister,  who  proceeded  to  nurse  Job  for  thirty-six 
hours.  Captain  Hap  went  home.  He  said  he  'd 
rather  tie  a  slipknot  round  the  fellar's  neck,  and 
drawr  it  taut. 

But  when  Job  came  to  himself,  poor  fellow,  the 
truth  came  with  him.  Job  had  been  the  blameless 
victim  of  one  of  those  incredible  but  authenticated 
plots  which  lend  blackness  to  the  dark  complexion 
of  the  liquor  trade. 

Job  was  working  ashore,  it  seemed,  for  a  week, 
being  out  of  a  chance  to  ship  ;  and  he  had  been 
upon  the  wharves,  salting  down  fish,  and  came  out 
at  hi?  nooning,  with  the  rest,  for  his  lunch.  There 
was  a  well,  in  a  yard,  by  the  fish-flakes,  and  a  dip- 
per, chained,  hung  from  the  pump. 

ib  came  Job's  turn  to  drink  from  the  dipper. 
And  when  he  had  drunk,  the  devil  entered  into 
him.  For  the  rim  of  the  dipper  had  been  mali- 
ciously smeared  with  rum.  Into  the  parched  body 
of  the  "  reformed  man  "  the  fire  of  that  flavor  ran, 
as  flame  runs  through  stubble  in  a  drought. 

The  half-cured  drunkard  remembered  putting 
down  his  head,  and  starting  for  the  nearest  grog- 
shop on  a  run,  with  a  yell.  From  that  moment 
till  Bayard  found  him,  Job  remembered  nothing 
more.  Such  episodes  of  the  nether  world  are 
Dt  rare  enough  to  be  doubted,  and  this  one  is  no 


"  t  'm  in  for  it,  now,"  groaned  Job.    "  Might  as 
well  go  to  h  -  and  done  with  it." 

Then  Bayard,  haggard  from  watching,  turned 


316  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

and  looked  on  Job.  Job  put  his  hands  before  his 
face. 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  he  cried.  "  But  you  see,  there  ain't 
a  wharf-rat  left  in  Windover  as  Vd  trust  me  now !  " 

"  Take  my  hand,  Job,"  said  the  minister  slowly. 

Job  took  it,  sobbing  like  a  baby. 

"  Now  climb  up  again,  Job !  "  said  Bayard  in  a 
strong  voice.  "  I  'm  with  you  !  " 

Thus  went  the  words  of  the  shortest  sermon  of 
the  minister's  life.  To  the  end  of  his  days,  Job 
Slip  will  think  it  was  the  greatest  and  the  best. 

Captain  Hap,  penitent,  but  with  no  idea  of  say- 
ing so,  came  up  the  tenement  stairs.  Mari  and 
Joey  sat  beside  the  fire.  Mari  was  frying  chunks 
of  haddock  for  supper.  Joey  was  singing  in  a 
contented  little  voice  something  that  he  had 
caught  in  the  mission  :  — 

"  Veresawidenessin  Godsmer  —  cy 

Likevewidenessof  vesea.  .  .  . 
ForveloveofGod  is  bwoard  —  er 

Vanvemeazzerof  mansmine 
Anve  heartof  veE  —  ter  —  rial 

Ismoswonderfully  kine." 

"  Hear  the  boy  !  "  cried  Mari,  laughing  for  the 
first  time  for  many  black  days. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  he  singin'  ? "  asked 
Joey's  father. 

"Why,  I'm  sure  it's  as  plain  as  can  be,"  said 
Joey's  mother,  — 

"  *  There  's  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy, 
Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea.' 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  317 

Then  he  says :  — 

" '  For  the  love  of  God  is  broader 

Than  the  measure  of  man's  mind, 
And  the  heart  of  the  Eternal 
Is  most  wonderful  and  kind.' 

Oh,  ain't  he  the  clever  boy  ?  " 

"  We  '11  see,"  said  Job  unexpectedly,  putting  his 
feet  to  the  floor.  "I  ain't  a-goin'  to  have  the 
little  fellar  ashamed  of  his  father,  see  if  I  be  !  " 

"  All  the  same,"  observed  Captain  Hap  drylyv 
"  I  would  n't  go  on  the  street  to-night,  if  I  was  you. 
I  '11  stay  along  of  you  a  spell.  The  minister 's  beat 
out.  There  's  enough  goin'  on  yet  to  capsize  a 
soberer  man  than  you  be,  Job.  The  fellar  that 
did  this  here  ain't  a-goin'  to  stop  at  rims  of  dippers. 
No,  sir !  ...  Job  Slip  !  Don't  you  tech  nothin' ; 
not  noihiri  outside  of  your  own  house,  this  six 
month  to  come !  Not  a  soda,  Job  !  Not  a  tunv 
bier  o'  milk !  Not  a  cup  o'  coffee  !  Not  a  swaller  o' 
water !  No,  nor  a  bite  of  victuals.  You  '11  be 
hunted  down  like  a  rat.  There  9s  bread  buttered 
with  phosphorus  layin'  round  loose  for  ye  most  any- 
wheres.  Everybody  knows  who  done  this.  'T  ain't 
no  use  to  spile  good  English  callin'  bad  names. 
He  won't  stop  at  nothin'  partikkelar  to  drawr  you 
under." 

"  But  why  ?  "  asked  Bayard.  "  Why  should  he 
hound  down  poor  Job  so  ?  " 

"  To  spite  you,  sir,"  replied  the  captain  without 
hesitation. 


518  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

In  the  dead  silence  which  followed  the  captain's 
words,  Joey's  little  voice  piped  up  again :  — 

"  Be  hushed  my  dark  spew  —  it 
Ve  wussvatcancome 
But  shortens  vy  zhour  —  nee 
Anhastingsme  home." 

Joey  stole  up  merrily,  and  patted  out  the  tune  with 
his  little  fingers  on  the  minister's  pale  cheek. 
"  He  says,"  began  Mari  proudly, 

"  *  Be  hushed,  my  dark  spirit, 
The  worst  that  can  come  '  "  — 

But  Captain  Hap,  who  was  not  in  a  pious  mood, 
interrupted  the  maternal  translation. 

"  Folks  say  that  they  've  got  into  their 

heads  their  license  is  in  genooine  danger.  Confine 
yourself  to  prayin'  an'  singin',  an'  they  don't  deny 
that's  what  you're  hired  for.  Folks  say  if  you 
meddle  with  city  politics,  there  ain't  an  insurance 
company  in  New  England  'u'd  take  a  policy  on 
your  life,  sir.  You  might  as  well  hear  what's 
goin'  on,  Mr.  Bayard.  I  don't  suspicion  it  '11 
make  no  odds  to  you.  I  told  'em  you  would  n't 
tech  the  politics  of  this  here  town  with  a  forty- 
fathom  grapplin'-iron,  —  no,  nor  with  a  harbor- 
dredger  !  " 

"  You  're  right  there,  Captain,"  returned  Bayard, 
Smiling. 

"  Then  't  ain't  true  about  the  license  ? "  asked 
the  captain  anxiously. 

"I  have  nothing  to  conceal  in  the  matter,  Cap 
tain,"  answered  Bayard  after  a  moment's  silence. 
"  There  are  legalized  crimes  in  Angel  Alley  which 


A    SINGULAR  LIFE.  319 

I  shall  fight  till  I  die.  But  it  will  be  slow  work. 
I  don't  do  it  by  lobbying.  I  have  my  own  me- 
thods, and  you  must  grant  me  my  own  counsel." 

"The  dawn  that  rises  on  the  Trawls  without 
their  license,"  slowly  said  the  captain,  "that  day? 
sir,  you  may  as  well  call  on  the  city  marshal  for 
a  body-guard.  You  '11  need  it !  " 

"  Oh,  you  and  Job  will  answer,  I  fancy,"  re- 
plied Bayard,  laughing. 

He  went  straight  home  and  to  bed,  where  he 
slept  fitfully  till  nearly  noon  of  the  next  day.  He 
was  so  exhausted  with  watching  and  excitement, 
that  there  is  a  sense  of  relief  in  thinking  that  the 
man  was  granted  this  one  night's  rest  before  that 
which  was  to  be  befell  him. 

For,  at  midnight  of  the  succeeding  night,  he 
was  awakened  by  the  clang  of  the  city  bells.  It 
was  a  still  night,  there  was  little  wind,  and  the  tide 
was  calm  at  the  ebb.  The  alarm  was  quite  distinct 
and  easily  counted.  One  ?  two  ?  three  ?  Six  ? 
One  —  two  —  three.  Six.  Thirty-six.  Thirty- 
six  was  the  call  from  the  business  section  of  the 
town.  This  alarm  rang  in  for  the  board  of  trade, 
Angel  Alley,  the  wharves,  and  certain  banks  and 
important  shops. 

UA  fire  on  the  wharves,  probably,"  thought 
Bavard  ;  he  turned  on  his  pillow ;  "  the  fire-boat 
will  reach  it  in  three  minutes.  It  is  likely  to  be 
some  slight  affair." 

One  —  two  —  three.  Six.  One  —  two  —  three. 
Six.  One  -  two.  One  -  two.  The  sounding  of  the 


320  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

general  alarm  aroused  him  thoroughly.  He  got 
to  the  window  and  flung  open  the  blinds.  In  the 
heart  of  the  city,  two  miles  away,  a  pillar  of  flame 
shot  straight  towards  the  sky,  which  hung  above  it 
as  red  as  the  dashed  blood  of  a  mighty  slaughter., 

At  this  moment  a  man  came  running,  and  leaned 
on  Mrs.  Granite's  fence,  looking  up  through  the 
dark. 

"  Mr.  Bayard  !  Mr.  Bayard  !  "  he  called  loudly. 

"Bob!  Is  that  you?  What  is  it?  Where  is  it?" 

"  It 's  in  Angel  Alley,  sir." 

"  Be  there  in  a  minute,  Bob." 

"  But,  Mr.  Bayard,  sir  —  there  's  them  as  think 
you  're  safer  where  you  be.  Job  Slip  says  you  stay 
to  home  if  you  love  us,  Mr.  Bayard !  " 

"  Wait  for  me,  Bob,"  commanded  Bayard.  "  I  'm 
half  dressed  now." 

"  But,  Mr.  Bayard,  Mr.  Bayard  —  you  ain't  got 
it  through  your  head  —  I  said  I  would  n't  be  the 
man  to  tell  you,  and  I  wish  to  gollyswash  I  'd  stuck 
to  it." 

"  Bob !     It  is  n't  the  Mission  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir —  yes !     They  've  set  us  afire !  " 

"Now,  Bob,"  said  the  minister,  suddenly  shoot- 
ing up  in  the  dark  at  Bob's  side,  with  coat  and  vest 
over  his  arm,  "  run  for  it !  Run !  " 

The  building  was  doomed  from  the  first.  The 
department  saw  that,  at  a  glance,  and  concentrated 
its  skill  upon  the  effort  to  save  the  block. 

The  deed  had  been  dexterously  done.     The  fire 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  321 

sprang  from  half  a  dozen  places,  and  had  been  burn- 
ing inwardly,  it  was  thought,  for  an  hour  before  it 
was  discovered.  The  people  had  been  too  poor  to 
hire  a  night-watchman. 

"  We  trusted  Providence,"  muttered  Captain 
Hap.  "  And  this  is  what  we  get  for  it !  " 

The  crowd  parted  before  the  minister  when  he 
came  panting  up,  with  Bob  a  rod  behind.  Bayard 
had  got  into  his  coat  on  the  way,  but  he  had  not 
waited  for  his  hat.  In  the  glare,  with  his  bared 
head  and  gray-white  face,  he  gathered  an  unearthly 
radiance. 

He  made  out  to  get  under  the  ropes,  and  sprang 
up  the  steps  of  the  burning  building. 

"  No,  sir !  "  said  the  chief  respectfully ;  "  you 
can't  get  in,  now.  We  've  saved  all  we  could." 

"  There  are  some  things  I  must  have.  I  can  get 
at  them.  I  've  done  this  before.  Let  me  in ! " 
commanded  the  minister. 

All  the  coherent  thought  he  had  at  that  moment 
was  that  he  must  save  some  of  the  pictures  — 
Helen's  pictures  that  she  had  given  to  the  people. 
In  that  shock  of  trouble  they  took  on  a  delirious 
preciousness  to  him. 

"  Let  me  into  my  own  chapel !  "  he  thundered. 

But  the  chief  put  his  hand  upon  the  preacher's 
foreast,  and  held  it  there. 

"  Not  another  step,  Mr.  Bayard.  The  roof  will 
fall  in  five  minutes.  Get  back,  sir !  " 

He  heard  his  people  calling  him  ;  strong  hands 
took  hold  of  him  ;  pitying  faces  looked  at  him. 


322  A    SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Bayard,"  some  one  said  gently  < 
"  Turn  away  with  us.  Don't  see  it  go." 

He  protested  no  more,  but  obeyed  quietly.  For 
the  first  time  since  they  had  known  him,  he  fal 
tered,  and  broke  before  his  people.  They  led  him 
away,  like  a  wounded  man.  He  covered  his  face 
when  the  crash  came.  The  sparks  flew  far  and 
hot  over  the  wharves,  and  embers  followed.  The 
water  hissed  as  it  received  them. 

At  the  first  gray  of  dawn,  the  minister  was  on 
the  ground  again.  Evidently  he  had  not  slept. 
There  was  a  storm  in  the  sky,  and  slow,  large  flakes 
of  snow  were  falling.  The  crowd  had  gone,  and 
the  Alley  was  deserted.  Only  a  solidary  guardian 
of  the  ruins  remained.  Bayard  stood  before  them, 
and  looked  up.  Now,  a  singular  thing  had  hap- 
pened. The  electric  wire  which  fed  the  illumi- 
nated sign  in  front  of  the  mission  had  not  been 
disconnected  by  the  fire ;  it  had  so  marvelously 
and  beautifully  happened ;  only  a  few  of  the  little 
colored  glass  globes  had  been  broken,  and  four 
white  and  scarlet  words,  paling  before  the  coming 
day,  and  blurring  in  the  snow,  but  burning  stead- 
ily, answered  the  smothered  tongues  of  fire  and  lips 
of  smoke  which  muttered  from  the  ruins. 

As  day  opened,  the  people  began  to  collect  upon 
the  spot.  Expressions  of  awe  or  of  superstition 
were  heard,  as  they  looked  up  and  read,  serene 
and  undisturbed  against  the  background  of  the 
rising  storm,  — 

THE  LOVE  OF  CHRIST. 


XXII. 

IMMEDIATELY  upon  the  destruction  of  the 
chapel,  two  things  happened.  The  first,  was  a 
visit  from  Mr.  Hermon  Worcester.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  unexpected ;  and  when  Bay- 
ard, coming  into  his  lodgings  one  dreary  after- 
noon, found  his  uncle  in  the  bony  rocking-chair, 
the  young  man  was  much  moved. 

Mr.  Worcester,  not  untouched  by  the  sight  of 
his  nephew's  emotion,  held  out  an  embarrassed 
hand.  Bayard  took  it  warmly.  He  had  learned 
the  lesson  of  loneliness  so  thoroughly,  that  he  was 
ill  prepared  for  the  agitation  of  this  little,  com- 
mon, human  incident. 

"  You  are  ill,  Manuel ! "  cried  the  elder  man. 
"  Good  heavens,  how  you  have  changed  !  I  had 
no  idea  —  You  should  have  told  me ! "  he 
added,  with  the  old  autocratic  accent.  "  I  ought 
to  have  been  informed.  .  .  .  And  this  is  how  you 
live  !  " 

Hermon  Worcester  looked  slowly  about  him( 
His  eye  fell  on  the  paper  screen,  the  mosquito-net 
portiere,  the  iron  angel  on  the  stove,  the  hard 
lounge,  the  old  carpet,  the  stained  wall-paper  ;  he 
scrutinized  the  bookcase,  he  glanced  at  the  Saint 
Michael.  When  he  saw  the  great  Christ,  he 
coughed,  and  turned  his  face  away;  got  \v  nn 


324  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

easily,  and  went  into  the  bedroom,  where  he  fell 
to  examining  the  cotton  comforters. 

"At  least,"  he  said  sharply,  "you  could  have 
sent  for  your  own  hair  mattress  !  Nobody  has 
slept  on  it,  since  "  — 

He  broke  off,  and  returned  to  the  skeleton  rock« 
ing-chair,  with  an  expression  of  discomfiture  so 
serious  that  Bayard  pitied  him.  He  hastened  to 
say:  — 

"  Oh,  I  have  done  very  well,  very  well  indeed, 
Uncle.  A  man  expects  to  rough  it,  if  he  chooses 
to  be  a  home  missionary.  Give  yourself  no  con- 
cern —  now." 

If  there  were  an  almost  uncontrollable  accent 
on  the  last  word,  Mr.  Hermon  Worcester  failed  to 
notice  it.  Something  in  that  other  phrase  had 
arrested  his  Orthodox  attention.  A  home  mis- 
sionary ?  A  home  missionary.  Was  it  possible 
to  regard  this  heretic  boy  in  that  irreproachable 
light  ? 

To  the  home  missions  of  his  denomination 
Mr.  Worcester  was  a  large  and  important  con- 
tributor. Now  and  then  an  ecclesiastical  Dives 
is  to  be  found  who  gives  a  certain  preference  to 
the  heathen  of  his  own  land  before  .those  of  India, 
Africa,  and  Japan  ;  Mr.  Worcester  had  always 
been  one  of  these  illuminated  men.  Indeed, 
Japan,  Africa,  and  India  had  been  known  to 
reflect  upon  the  character  of  his  Christianity  for 
the  reason  that  his  checks  were  cashed  for  the 
benefit  of  Idaho,  Tennessee,  and  the  Carolinas. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  325 

To  this  hour  it  had  not  occurred  to  Mr.  Worces- 
ter that  the  heathen  of  Windover  could  be  pro- 
perly  rated  as  in  the  home  missionary  field.  Even 
the  starving  pastors  in  the  northern  counties  of 
Vermont  might  have  gratefully  called  for  yearly 
barrels  of  his  old  clothes ;  but  Windover  ?  Why, 
that  was  within  two  hours  of  Boston !  And,  alas5 
the  Vermont  ministers  were  always  "  sound."  In 
Idaho,  Tennessee,  and  the  Carolinas,  where  was  a 
corrupt  theology  to  be  found  ? 

But  that  phrase  had  lodged  in  some  nick  of  Mr. 
Worcester's  rnind  ;  and  he  could  no  more  brush  it 
off  than  one  can  brush  away  a  seed  out  of  reach  in 
the  crevice  of  a  rock.  He  regarded  his  nephew 
with  a  certain  tolerance,  warmly  tinged  by  com- 
passion. 

"  The  boy  is  a  wreck,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Manuel  will  die  if  this  goes  on.  He  might  have 
expected  it.  And  so  might  I." 

The  old  man's  face  worked.  He  spoke,  crossly 
enough.  Bayard  remembered  that  he  always  used 
to  be  cross  when  he  was  touched. 

"  What 's  to  happen  now  ?  Eeady  to  give  it 
up,  Manuel?" 

"  I  am  ready  to  begin  all  over  again,"  replied 
Emanuel,  smiling. 

His  voice  had  the  ring  that  his  uncle  knew  too 
well ;  when  he  was  a  little  fellow,  and  bound  to  do 
a  thing  whether  or  no,  he  spoke  in  that  tone,  and 
always  with  that  engaging  smile. 

"  Who  pays  for  this  phoenix  ?  "  asked  the  man 


326  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

of  business  brusquely.  "  I  passed  by  your  place. 
It  is  a  fine  heap  of  ashes.  A  curious  sight  I  saw 
there,  too.  That  sign  you  hang  out  —  those  four 
words." 

Bayard  nodded. 

"It  is  a  pleasant  accident.  The  department 
says  it  is  almost  unprecedented.  Oh,  we  shall 
crawl  up  somehow,  Uncle !  I  don't  feel  verr 
anxious.  The  town  hall  is  already  hired  for 
temporary  use.  There  is  great  excitement  in  the 
city  over  the  whole  affair.  You  see,  it  has  reached 
the  proportions,  now,  of  a  deadlock  between  the 
rum  interest  and  the  decent  citizens.  Our  treas- 
urer is  circulating  some  sort  of  a  paper.  I  think 
he  hopes  to  collect  a  few  hundreds  —  enough  to 
tide  us  over  till  we  can  float  off.  I  don't  know 
just  how  it  is  all  coming  out.  Of  course  we  can't 
expect  the  help  that  an  ordinary  church  would  get 
in  a  similar  trouble." 

"  I  'm  glad  if  you  recognize  that  fact,  Manuel," 
replied  Mr.  Worcester  uncomfortably.  In  his 
heart  he  was  saying,  "The  boy  has  his  mother's 
splendid  Worcester  pride.  He  '11  perish  here,  like 
a  starving  eagle  on  a  deserted  crag,  but  he  won't 
ask  me !  " 

"You  need  a  new  building,"  observed  Mr. 
Worcester,  with  that  quiet  way  of  putting  a  start 
ling  thing  which  was  another  Worcester  quality. 
"  You  seem  to  have  made  —  from  your  own  point 
of  view,  of  course  —  what  any  man  of  affairs  would 
call  a  success  here.  Of  course,  you  understand, 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  327 

Manuel,  that  I  cannot  approve  of  your  course.     It 
has  been  the  greatest  grief  of  my  life." 

Bayard  hastened  to  observe  that  his  comprehen- 
sion of  this  point  was  not  limited. 

"  From  your  point  of  view,  not  mine,  Manuel,  I 
should,  as  a  man  of  business,  suggest  that  a  new 
building  —  your  own  property  —  something  to  im- 
press business  men,  you  know ;  something  to  give 
material  form  to  that  —  undoubtedly  sincere  and  — 
however  mistaken  —  unselfish, religious  effort  that 
you  have  wasted  in  this  freezing  hole.  ...  I 
wonder,  Manuel,  if  you  could  put  the  draughts  on 
that  confounded  box-burner  with  the  angel  atop  ? 
I  don't  know  when  I  Ve  been  so  chilly  !  " 

Bayard  hastened  to  obey  this  request,  without 
intimating  that  the  draughts  were  closed  to  save 
the  coal.  This  species  of  political  economy  was 
quite  outside  of  his  uncle's  experience,  and  yet, 
perhaps,  the  man  of  business  had  more  imagina- 
tion than  his  nephew  gave  him  credit  for ;  he  said 
abruptly :  — 

"  Look  here,  Manuel,  I  've  got  to  get  the  seven 
o'clock  train  home,  you  know,  and  I  'd  best  do  the 
errand  I  came  on,  at  once.  You  know  those  old 
Virginia  mines  of  your  mother's  ?  There  was  a 
little  stock  there,  you  remember?  It  went  below 
zero.  Has  n't  been  heard  of  for  twenty  years. 
But  it  remained  on  the  inventory  of  the  estate, 
you  know.  Well,  it 's  come  up.  There  's  a  new 
plant  gone  in  —  Northern  enterprise,  you  know  — 
and  the  stock  is  on  the  market  again.  There  is 


328  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

only  a  trifle,  a  paltry  two  thousand,  if  well  handled. 
It 's  yours,  you  see,  whatever  there  is  of  it.  I 
came  down  to  ask  if  you  would  like  to  have  me 
force  a  sale  for  you." 

"  Two  thousand  dollars  !  "  cried  Bayard,  turning 
pale.  "  Why,  it  would  almost  build  me  —  at  least, 
it  would  furnish  a  new  chapel.  We  had  about  sc 
much  of  inside  property  —  library,  piano,  pictures, 
settees,  hyrnii-books,  and  all  that  —  it  is  all  a  dead 
loss.  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Bond  had  never  insured 
it  —  we  were  so  poor ;  every  dollar  tells  !  " 

"  Then  he  was  a  very  bad  man  of  business  for 
a  church  —  for  a  —  missionary  officer  !  "  cried  Mr. 
Worcester  irritably ;  "  and  I  hope  you  '11  do  no- 
thing of  the  kind.  You  could  spend  that  amount 
on  your  personal  necessities  inside  of  six  months, 
and  then  not  know  it,  sir !  You  are  —  I  hope, 
Manuel,"  sternly,  "  that  you  will  regard  my  wish, 
for  once,  in  one  respect,  before  I  die.  Don't  fling 
your  mother's  money  into  the  bottomless  pit  of 
this  unendowed,  burnt-out,  unpopular  enterprise ! 
Wait  awhile,  Manuel.  Wait  a  little  and  think  it 
over.  I  don't  think,  under  the  circumstances,'* 
added  Mr.  Worcester  with  some  genuine  dignity, 
"  that  it  is  very  much  to  ask." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not,"  replied  Bayard  thought- 
fully. "  At  least,  I  will  consider  it,  as  you  say." 

Four  days  after,  an  envelope  from  Boston  wa? 
put  into  Bayard's  hand.  It  contained  a  type- 
written letter  setting  forth  the  fact  that  the  writer 
desired  to  contribute  to  the  erection  of  the  new 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  329 

chapel  in  Windover  known  by  the  name  of  Christ- 
love,  and  representing  a  certain  phase  oi  home 
missionary  effort  —  the  inclosed  sum.  It  was  a 
bank  draft  for  twenty-five  hundred  dollars.  The 
writer  withheld  his  name,  and  requested  that  no 
effort  be  made  to  identify  him.  He  also  desired 
that  his  contribution  be  used,  if  possible,  in  a  con- 
ditional character,  to  stimulate  the  growth  of  a 
collection  sufficient  to  put  the  building  and  the 
mission  behind  it,  upon  a  suitable  basis. 

The  following  day  Mr.  Worcester  sent  to  Bay- 
ard by  personal  check  the  remnant  of  his  mother's 
property.  This  little  sum  seemed  as  large,  now,  to 
the  Beacon  Street  boy,  as  if  he  had  been  reared  in 
one  of  the  Vermont  parsonages  to  which  his  uncle 
sent  old  overcoats ;  or,  one  might  say,  as  if  he 
had  never  left  the  shelter  of  that  cottage  under 
the  pine  grove  in  Bethlehem,  where  his  eyes  first 
opened  upon  the  snow-girt  hills.  Self-denial  speaks 
louder  in  the  blood  than  indulgence,  after  all ;  and 
who  knew  how  much  of  Bayard's  simple  manliness 
in  the  endurance  of  privation  he  owed  to  the  pluck 
of  the  city  girl  who  left  the  world  for  love  of  one 
poor  man,  and  to  become  the  mother  of  another  ? 

Bayard  had  scarcely  adjusted  his  mind  to  these 
events  when  he  received  from  Helen  Carruth  this 
letter :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  MR.  BAYARD,  —  My  little  note  of 
sympathy  with  your  great  trouble  did  not  deserve 
so  prompt  an  answer.  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  could 


330  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

not  quite  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  you,  in  the  midst 
of  so  much  care  and  anxiety,  what  I  can  delay  no 
longer  in  saying  "  — 

Bayard  laid  down  the  letter.  The  room  grew 
black  before  his  starting  eyes. 

"  There  is  another  man,"  he  thought.  "  She  is 
engaged.  She  cannot  bear  to  tell  me." 

Sparks  of  fire  leaped  before  his  eyeballs.  Black 
swung  into  purple  —  into  gray  —  light  returned ; 
and  he  read  on :  — 

"  If  I  flatter  myself  in  supposing  that  you  might 
mind  it  a  little,  why,  the  mistake  hurts  nobody, 
neither  you  nor  me ;  but  the  fact  is  we  are  not 
coming  to  Windover  this  summer.  We  sail  for 
Europe  next  week. 

"  Father  has  decided  quite  suddenly,  and  there 
is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  go.  It  is  something 
to  do  with  Exegesis,  if  you  please  !  There  is  a 
mistake  in  Exegesis,  you  know,  —  in  the  New 
Version.  It  seems  to  me  a  pretty  Old  Version  by 
this  time,  hut  father  has  always  been  stirred  up 
about  it.  He  has  been  corresponding  with  a  Ger- 
man Professor  for  a  year  or  two  on  this  burning 
subject.  I  have  an  inarticulate  suspicion  that, 
between  them,  they  mean  to  write  the  New  Testa- 
ment over  again.  Could  they  do  another  Version  ? 
How  many  Versions  can  be  versed  ? 

"  I  never  graduated,  you  know ;  I  never  even 
attended  a  Cesarea  Anniversary  in  my  life  (and 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  331 

you  can't  think  how  it  shocked  the  Trustees  at 
dinner,  and  that  was  such  fun,  so  I  kept  on  not 
going!),  and  !  can't  be  expected  to  fathom  these 
matters.  Anyhow,  it  is  mixed  up  with  the  Au- 
thenticity of  the  Fourth  Gospel,  and  the  Effect  of 
German  Rationalism  upon  the  Evangelical  Faith, 
It  is  a  reason  full  of  capital  letters  and  Orthodoxy, 

—  and  go  he  will.    He  won't  leave  mother  behind, 
for  he  is  one  of  the  men  who  believe  in  living  with 
their  wives ;  he  's  just  as  dependent  on  his  women- 
kind  when  he  's  engaged  in  a  theological  row,  as  a 
boy  who 's  got  hurt  at  football;  and  I 've  got  to 
go  to  take  care  of  the  two  of  them.    So  there  it  is ! 
I  think  there  is  a  convention  in  Berlin  —  an  Exe- 
getical  Something  —  anyhow,  there 's  a  date,  and 
live  up  to  it  we  must.      He  has  sublet  the  Flying 
Jib  to  the  Prudential  Committee  of  the  A.  B.  C. 
F.   M.  —  I  mean  to   one   of  it,   with  six  grand- 
children.    Think   how    they  '11    punch    their   fists 
through  our  lace  curtains  !     I  wish  you  "d  go  down 
and  tell   Mr.    Salt    they  shan't    have     my  dory. 
Could  n't  you  manage  to  use  it  yourself  ?     And  I 

—  I  can't  take  Joey   Slip  to  the   circus,  nor  sit 
down    in    sackcloth   on   the   ashes   of    Christlove 
Chapel  to  help  you. 

"Truly,  dear  friend,  I  meant  to  help  this 
summer.  And  I  am  disappointed,  if  you  care  to 
know  it.  Yours  faithfully, 

"HELEN  CARRUTH. 

64 1  forgot  to  say  that  father  has  doubled  up  his 


832  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

lectures,  and  the  Trustees  have  given  him  the 
whole  summer  term.  This,  I  believe,  is  in  view  of 
the  importance  of  the  quarrel  over  the  Fourth 
Gospel.  We  sail  in  the  Scythia  a  week  from 
Saturday." 

It  was  early  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  when 
Helen,  standing  in  her  window  to  draw  the  shades, 
glanced  over  automatically  at  the  third-story  north- 
west corner  front  of  Galilee  Hall.  The  room  had 
long  since  been  occupied  by  a  middler  with  blue 
spectacles  and  a  peaked  beard;  a  long-legged 
fellow,  who  was  understood  to  be  a  Hebrew 
scholar,  and  quite  Old  School,  and  was  expected 
to  fill  a  large  parish  without  offending  the  senior 
deacon.  Privately,  Helen  hated  the  middler. 
But  the  eye  that  had  learned  to  wander  at  sunset 
across  the  Seminary  "  yard  "  to  the  window  blazing 
in  gold  and  glory,  had  slowly  unlearned  the  lesson 
of  its  brief  and  pleasant  habit.  Even  yet,  on  blue- 
white  winter  days,  when  life  stood  still  to  freeze  on 
Cesarea  Hill,  Helen  found  herself  drearily  looking 
at  the  glittering  glass  —  as  one  looks  at  the  smile 
on  a  face  from  which  the  soul  has  fled. 

It  was  still  many  hours  to  suuset,  and  the  early 
April  afternoon  fell  gustily  arid  gray  upon  the 
snows  of  Cesarea.  It  was  not  a  sunny  day,  and 
Cesarea  was  at  her  worst.  Helen  idly  watched  a 
figure  splashing  through  two  feet  of  slush  "  across 
lots  "  over  the  Seminary  grounds  from  the  Trus. 
tees'  Hotel. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  333 

"A  post-graduate,"  she  thought,  "back  on  a 
visit.  Or,  more  likely,  a  minister  without  a  pul- 
pit, coming  to  Cesarea  after  a  parish,  or  places  to 
supply.  Probably  he  has  seven  children  and  a 
mother-in-law  to  support.  If  he  's  4  sound  '  he  11 
come  to  Father  —  no  —  yes.  Why,  yes  !  " 

She  drew  suddenly  back  from  the  window.  It 
was  Emaimel  Bayard. 

He  waded  through  the  slush  as  quickly  as  so 
tired  a  man  could.  He  had  walked  from  the 
station,  saving  his  coach  fare,  and  had  made  but 
feint  of  being  a  guest  at  the  hotel,  where  he  had 
not  dined.  He  was  not  quite  prepared  to  let 
Helen  know  that  he  had  lunched  on  cold  johnny- 
cake  and  dried  beef,  put  up  by  Mrs.  Granite  in 
a  red  cotton  doily,  and  tenderly  pinned  over  by 
Jane  with  a  safety-pin. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  gloomy  landscape  for 
illumination,  which  it  denied  him.  He  knew  no 
more  than  the  snow  professor  what  he  should  do, 
what  he  should  say,  no,  nor  why  he  had  lapsed  into 
this  great  weakness,  and  come  to  Cesarea  at  all. 
He  felt  as  if  he  might  make,  indeed,  a  mortal  mis- 
take, one  way  or  the  other.  He  pleaded  to  him- 
self that  he  must  see  her  face  once  more,  or  perish. 
Nature  was  mightier  than  he,  and  drove  him  on, 
as  it  drives  the  strongest  of  us  in  those  reactions 
from  our  strenuous  vow  and  sternest  purpose,  for 
which  we  have  lacked  the  simple  foresight  to 
provide  in  our  plan  of  life. 

There  was  a  new  snow  professor,  by  the  way, 


334  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

comfortably  melting  before  the  pump  beside  the 
Academy  commons.  He  had  been  considered 
sounder  than  any  of  his  predecessors,  and  had  been 
supplied  with  a  copy  of  St.  Augustine's  Confes- 
sions, which  he  perused  with  a  corncob  pipe  be- 
tween his  lips  of  ice.  A  Westminster  catechism 
ornamented  his  vest  pocket.  He  was  said  to  have 
slumped  beautifully,  when  the  thaw  came. 

Bayard  ^hot  a  tolerant  smile  at  the  snow  pro- 
fessor's remains,  as  he  came  up  the  steps. 

Helen  herself  answered  his  ring.  Both  of  them 
found  this  so  natural  that  neither  commented  upon 
this  little  act  of  friendliness. 

The  Professor  was  at  his  lecture ;  and  Mrs. 
Carruth  was  making  her  final  appearance  at  cer- 
tain local  Cesarea  charities  ;  principally,  to-day,  at 
the  Association  for  Assisting  Indigent  Married 
Students  with  blankets  and  baby-clothes.  Helen 
explained  these  facts  with  her  usual  irreverence, 
as  she  ushered  her  visitor  into  the  parlor. 

"  If  I  had  a  fortune,"  she  observed,  "  I  would 
found  a  society  in  Cesarea  for  making  it  a  Penal 
Offence  for  a  Married  Man  to  Study  for  the  Min- 
istry without  a  Visible  Income.  The  title  is  a  little 
long,  don't  you  think  ?  How  could  we  shorten  it  ? 
It 's  worse  than  the  Cruelty  to  Animals  thing.  Mr. 
Bayard  ?  —  why,  Mr.  Bayard  !  " 

When  she  saw  the  expression  of  his  face,  her 
own  changed  with  remorseful  swiftness. 

64  You  are  perfectly  right,"  he  said  with  sudden, 
smiting  incisiveness.  "  You  are  more  than  right. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  335 

It  is  the  greatest  act  of  folly  of  my  life  that  I  am 
here." 

He  stood  still,  and  looked  at  her.  The  despair 
she  saw  in  his  eyes  seemed  to  her  a  measureless, 
bottomless  thing. 

"  I  had  to  come,"  he  said.  "  How  could  I  let  yon 
go,  without  — you  must  see  that  I  had  to  look 
upon  your  face  once  more.  Forgive  me  —  dear !  " 

Her  chin  trembled,  at  the  lingering  of  that  last, 
unlooked-for  word. 

"  I  have  tried,"  said  Bayard  slowly.  Mfou  won't 
misunderstand  me  if  I  say  I  have  tried  to  do  the 
best  I  can,  at  Windover ;  and  I  have  failed  in  it," 
he  added  bitterly,  "  from  every  point  of  view,  and 
in  every  way !  " 

"  As  much  as  that,"  said  Helen,  "  happened  to 
the  Founder  of  the  Christian  religion.  You  are 
presumptuous  if  you  expect  anything  different." 

"You  are  right,"  answered  Bayard,  with  that 
instinctive  humility  which  was  at  once  the  strongest 
and  the  sweetest  thing  about  him.  "  1  accept  your 
rebuke." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Helen,  holding  out  her  hands,  "  1 
could  n't  rebuke  you  !  I  "  —  she  faltered. 

"  You  see,"  said  Bayard  slowly,  "  that 's  just 
the  difference,  the  awful,  infinite  difference.  All 
His  difficulties  were  from  the  outside." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  asked  Helen  quickly,, 

"  I  don't,"  replied  Bayard  thoughtfully.  "  I 
don't  know.  But  I  have  been  accustomed  to  think 
so.  Perhaps  I  am  under  the  traditions  yet ;  per- 


336  A   SINGULAR  LIFE, 

haps  I  am  no  nearer  right  than  the  other  Chris- 
tians I  have  separated  myself  from.  But  mine, 
you  see  —  my  obstacles,  the  things  that  make  it  so 
hard  —  the  only  thing  that  makes  it  seem  impos- 
sible for  me  to  go  on  —  is  within  myself.  You 
don't  suppose  He  ever  loved  a  woman  —  as  I  — 
love  you  ?  It 's  impossible  !  "  cried  the  young  man. 
"Why,  there  are  times  when  it  seems  to  me  that  if 
the  salvation  of  the  world  hung  in  one  scale,  and 
you  in  the  other  —  as  if  I —  "  He  finished  by  a 
blinding  look.  Her  face  drooped,  but  did  not  fall. 
He  could  see  her  fingers  tremble.  "  It  was  some- 
thing," he  went  on  dully,  "  to  see  you  ;  to  know  that 
I  —  why,  all  winter  I  have  lived  on  it,  on  the  know- 
ledge that  summer  was  coming  —  that  you  —  Oh, 
you  can't  know !  You  can't  understand !  I  could 
bear  all  the  rest !  "  he  cried.  "  This  —  this  — 

His  sentence  broke,  and  was  never  completed  ; 
for  Helen  looked  up  into  his  face.  It  was  ashen, 
and  all  its  muscles  were  set  like  stiffening  clay. 
She  lifted  her  eyes  and  gave  them  to  him. 

"I  do  understand.  ...  I  Jo,"  she  breathed. 
kt  Would  it  make  you  any  happier  if  you  knew  — 
if  I  should  tell  you  —  of  course,  I  know  what  you 
said ;  that  we  can't  .  .  .  but  would  it  be  any  easier 
if  [  should  tell  you  that  I  have  loved  you  all  the 
time?" 


XXIII. 

To  the  end  of  her  life  Helen  will  see  the  look  OB 
Emanuel  Bayard's  face  when  she  had  spoken  these 
words. 

With  more  of  terror  than  delight,  the  woman's 
nature  sprang,  for  that  instant,  back  upon  itself. 
Would  she  have  recalled  what  she  had  said  ?'  It 
is  possible ;  for  now  she  understood  how  he  loved 
her,  and  perceived  that  she  had  never  understood 
what  a  man's  love  is. 

Yet,  when  he  spoke,  it  was  with  that  absence 
of  drama,  with  that  repression  amounting  almost 
to  commonplace,  which  characterize  the  intensest 
crises  of  experience. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  he  said.      "  Have  you  ?  " 

And  at  first  that  was  all.  But  his  voice  shook, 
and  his  hand  ;  and  his  face  went  so  white  that  he 
seemed  like  a  man  smitten  rather  by  death  than 
by  love. 

Helen,  in  a  pang  of  maiden  fright,  had  moved 
away  from  him,  and  retreated  to  the  sofa  ;  he  sank 
beside  her  silently.  Leaning  forward  a  little,  he 
covered  his  eyes  with  one  hand.  The  other  rested 
on  the  cushion  within  an  inch  of  her  purple  dress  ; 
he  did  not  touch  her ;  he  did  not  touch  it.  Helen 
felt  sorry,  seeing  him  so  troubled  and  wrung ;  her 
heart  went  out  in  a  throb  of  that  maternal  compas- 


338  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

sion  which  is  never  absent  from  the  love  of  any 
woman  for  any  man. 

"  Oh,"  she  sighed,  "  I  meant  to  make  y(Tu  happy, 
to  give  you  comfort !  And  now  I  have  made  you 
unhappy !  " 

u  You  have  made  me  the  happiest  of  all  miser- 
able men ! " 

He  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at  her  till  hers 
was  the  face  to  fall. 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  she  pleaded.      "  Not  like  that  !  " 

But  he  paid  no  heed  to  this  entreaty.  The 
soul  of  the  saint  and  the  heart  of  the  man  made 
duel  together ;  and  the  man  won,  and  exulted  in 
it,  and  wondered  how  he  dared ;  but  his  gaze 
devoured  her  willfully.  The  first  embrace  of  the 
eyes— more  delicate,  more  deferent,  and  at  once 
less  guarded  than  the  meeting  of  hands  or  clasp  of 
arms — he  gave  her,  and  did  not  restrain  it.  Be- 
fore it,  Helen  felt  more  helpless  than  if  he  had 
touched  her.  She  seemed  to  herself  to  be  annihi- 
lated in  his  love. 

"  Happy  ? "  he  said  exultingly,  u  you  deify 
me !  You  have  made  a  god  of  me  !  " 

"  No,"  she  shook  her  head  with  a  little  teasing 
smile,  "  I  have  made  a  man  of  you." 

"  Then  they  are  one  thing  and  the  same ! " 
cried  the  lover.  "  Let  me  hear  you  say  it.  Tel] 
it  to  me  again  !  " 

She  was  silent,  and  she  crimsoned  to  the  brows. 

"  You  are  not  sure !  "  he  accused  her.  "  You 
want  to  take  it  back.  It  was  a  madness,  an  im- 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  339 

pulse.  You  don't  mean  it.  You  do  not,  you  have 
not  loved  me.  .  .  .  How  could  you?"  he  added 
humbly.  "You  know  I  never  counted  on  it, 
never  expected,  did  not  trust  myself  to  think  of  it 
—  all  this  while." 

She  lifted  her  head  proudly. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  take  back.  It  was  not  an 
impulse.  I  am  not  that  kind  of  woman.  I 
have  been  meaning  to  tell  you  —  when  you  gave 
me  the  chance.  I  love  you.  I  have  loved  you 
ever  since  —  " 

She  stopped. 

"  Since  when?  How  long  have  you  loved  me  ? 
Come !  Speak  !  I  will  know !  "  commanded 
Bayard  deliriously. 

"  Oh,  what  is  going  to  be  gained  if  I  tell  you  ?  " 

Helen  gave  him  a  prisoner's  look.  She  turned 
her  head  from  side  to  side  rebelliously,  as  if  she 
had  flown  into  a  cage  whose  door  was  now  unex- 
pectedly shut. 

"  I  meant  to  make  you  happy.  All  I  say  seems 
to  make  everything  worse.  I  shall  tell  you 
nothing;  more." 

O 

"  You  will  tell  me,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  calm 
authority,  "  all  I  ask.  It  is  my  affair  whether  I 
am  happy  or  wretched.  Yours  is  to  obey  my 
wish :  because  you  love  me,  Helen." 

His  imperious  voice  fell  to  a  depth  of  tenderness 
in  which  her  soul  and  body  seemed  to  sink  and 
drown. 

"  I  have  loved  you,"  she  whispered,  "  ever  since 


340  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

that  night,  —  the  first  time  I  saw  you  here,  in  my 
father's  house." 

"  Now,  sir !  "  she  added,  with  her  sudden,  pretty 
willfulness,  "  make  the  most  of  it.  I  'm  not 
ashamed  of  it,  either.  But  I  shall  be  ashamed  of 
you  if  —  this  —  if  after  I  've  said  it  all,  it  does  n't 
make  you  happy.  .  .  .  That 's  all  I  care  for,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  It  is  all  I  care  for  in  this  world." 

"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do?"  pleaded  Bayard. 

"You  have  your  work,"  said  Helen  dreamily, 
"  and  I  your  love."  "j^to  (\^  ^  /H^^^^CXW 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 

"  Is  that  enough  for  you  ?  "  demanded  the  man. 
"  I  shall  perish  of  it,  I  shall  perish !  " 

Something  in  his  tone  and  expression  caused 
Helen  to  regard  him  keenly.  He  looked  so 
wasted,  so  haggard,  that  her  heart  stood  still,  and 
said  to  her,  —  "  This  is  truer  than  he  knows." 

"  No,"  she  answered  with  a  sweet,  womanly 
composure,  "  it  is  not  enough  for  me." 

"And  yet,"  he  said  with  the  brutality  of  the  tor- 
mented, "  I  cannot,  I  must  not,  ask  you  to  be  my  "  — 

She  put  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  his  lips  to 
check  the  word.  He  seized  her  hand  and  held 
it  there  ;  then,  for  he  came  to  himself,  he  relin- 
quished it,  and  laid  it  down. 

"Dear,"  said  Helen,  "  I  shouldn't  mind  it  ... 
to  be  poor.  I  want  you  to  understand  —  to  know 
how  it  is.  I  have  never  felt  .  .  .  any  other  way. 
It  shall  be  just  as  you  say,"  she  added  with  a 
gentleness  which  gave  a  beautiful  dignity  to  her 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  341 

words.  "  We  need  not  ...  do  it,  because  I  say 
this.  But  I  wanted  you  to  know —  that  I  was  not- 
afraid  of  a  hard  life  with  you." 

"  Oh,  you  cannot  understand,"  he  groaned.  w  It 
is  no  picturesque  poverty  you  would  have  to  meetc 
It  would  mean  cold,  hunger,  misery  you  've  never 
thought  of,  cruel  suffering  —  for  you.  It  would 
mean  all  that  a  man  has  no  right  to  ask  a  woman 
to  endure  for  him,  because  he  loves  her  ...  as  I 
love  you." 

"  I  could  starve,"  said  Helen. 

"  God  help  us  !  "  cried  the  man.  Nothing  else 
came  to  his  dry  lips. 

Then  Helen  answered  him  in  these  strong  and 
quiet  words :  "  I  told  you  I  would  trust  you,  and 
I  shall  do  it  to  the  end.  When  you  are  ready  for 
me,  I  shall  come.  I  am  not  afraid  —  of  anything, 
except  that  you  should  suffer  and  that  I  could  not 
comfort  you.  If  you  never  see  the  way  to  think 
it  right  ...  I  can  wait.  I  love  you ;  and  I  am 
yours  to  take  or  leave." 

"This,"  whispered  Bayard  reverently,  for  he 
could  have  knelt  before  her,  "  is  a  woman's  love ! 
I  am  unworthy  of  it  —  and  of  you." 

"  Oh,  there  is  the  other  kind  of  woman,"  said 
Helen,  trying  rather  unsuccessfully  to  smile. 
"  This  is  only  my  way  of  loving.  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  it." 

"Ashamed  of  it  ?  It  honors  you  !  It  glorifies 
you ! " 

He  held  out  his  arms ;  but  she  did  not  swerve 


342  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

towards  them  ;  they  dropped.  She  seemed  to  him 
encompassed  in  a  shining  cloud,  in  which  her  own 
celestial  tenderness  and  candor  had  wrapped  and 
protected  her. 

"  Love  me  ! "  he  pleaded.  "  Love  me,  trust  me, 
till  we  can  think.  I  must  do  right  by  you,  what- 
ever it  means  to  me" 

"  We  love  each  other,"  repeated  Helen,  holding 
out  her  hands,  "  and  I  trust  you.  Let  us  live  on 
that  a  little  while,  till  we  —  till  you  " 

But  she  faltered,  and  her  courage  forsook  her 
when  she  looked  up  into  his  face.  All  the  anguish 
of  the  man  that  the  woman  cannot  share,  and  may 
not  understand,  started  out  in  visible  lines  and 
signs  upon  his  features  ;  all  the  solemn  responsi- 
bility for  her,  for  himself,  and  for  the  unknown 
consequences  of  their  sacred  passion  ;  the  solitary 
burden,  which  it  is  his  to  wear  in  the  name  of  love, 
and  which  presses  hardest  upon  him  whose  spirit  is 
higher  and  stronger  than  mere  human  joy. 

But  at  this  moment  a  sound  was  heard  upon  the 
stone  steps  of  the  Queen  Anne  house.  It  was  the 
footfall  of  the  Professor  himself,  returning  from 
his  closing  lecture  of  the  series  on  Eschatology. 
Mrs.  Carruth  pattered  behind  him  with  short5 
stout  steps.  She  had  wound  the  affairs  of  the 
Association  for  Assisting  Indigent  Married  Stu- 
dents with  Blankets,  to  a  condition  in  which  they 
could  run  along  without  her  till  the  exegetical  trip 
to  the  German  Professor's  in  Berlin  should  be 
over,  and  the  slush  of  Cesarea  should  know  her 
again. 


XXIV. 

THE  summer  slid,  Bayard  knew  not  how.  They 
separated  as  so  many  confused  lovers  do  in  the 
complicated  situations  of  our  later  life ;  wherein 
we  love  no  longer  in  the  old,  outright,  downright 
way,  when  men  and  women  took  each  other  for 
better,  for  worse,  and  dared  to  run  the  risk  of 
loving,  without  feeling  responsible  for  the  conse- 
quences. We  are  past  all  that ;  and  whether  it  is 
the  worse  or  the  better  for  us,  who  shall  say  ? 

At  least,  these  two  had  the  healthy  ring  to  their 
love ;  in  that  great  and  simple  feeling  was  no  de- 
linquency or  default.  Bayard  did  not  hesitate  or 
quibble  —  one  day  a  lover,  the  next  a  prudential 
committee,  after  the  fashion  of  such  feeble  mathe- 
maticians as  go  by  the  name  of  men,  to-day.  He 
was  incapable  of  calculating  his  high  passion ; 
there  was  no  room  in  his  soul  or  body  for  a  doubt 
to  take  on  lease  of  life.  He  loved  her  ;  as  the 
greatest  of  women  might  be  proud  and  humble  to 
be  loved ;  as  the  smallest  would  be  vain  to  be. 

He  loved  her  too  much  to  make  her  miserable  ; 
and  he  knew,  with  that  dreary,  practical  perception 
of  the  truth  sometimes  but  rarely  granted  to  men 
of  the  seer's  temperament,  that  he  could  not  make 
her  happy.  Between  love  and  joy  a  dead  wall 
shut  down ;  it  seemed  to  him  to  reach  from  the 


344  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

highest  heavens  to  the  waters  under  the  earth. 
What  elemental  chaos  could  rend  it?  What 
miracle  was  foreordained  to  shatter  it?  Would 
the  busy  finger  of  God  stretch  out  to  touch  it  ? 

"  God  knows,"  he  wrote  her.  "  And  He  pur 
posss,  I  am  fain  to  believe,  if  He  purposes  anything 
we  do  or  suffer.  The  hour  may  come,  and  the  way 
might  clear.  More  incredible  things  have  hap- 
pened to  men  and  women  loving  less  than  we.  If 
I  can,  I  claim  you  when  I  can.  Oh,  wait  for  me, 
and  trust  me !  Life  is  so  short ;  it  is  not  easy. 
Sometimes  madness  enters  into  me,  to  fling  all 
these  cold,  these  cruel  considerations,  thes'e  things 
we  call  honor,  unselfishness,  chivalry,  to  the  gales 
.  .  .  Then  I  come  to  myself.  I  will  not  wrong 
you.  Help  me  to  bear  to  live  without  you  till  I 
see  your  face  again." 

Helen  wrote  him  noble  letters  ;  brave,  womanly, 
and  as  trustful  as  the  swing  of  the  earth  in  its 
orbit.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  few  women 
in  her  place  would  have  shown  the  strong  compos- 
ure of  this  ardent  girl.  The  relation  between 
acknowledged  lovers  unbetrothed  is  one  whose 
difficulty  only  an  inspired  delicacy  can  control. 
Helen's  clear  eyes  held  no  shadows.  The  dark 
wing  of  regret  for  a  moment's  weakness  never 
brushed  between  her  heart  and  this  Sir  Galahad 
who  loved  her  like  man  and  spirit  too.  Few 
women  reared  as  she  had  been  would  have  trusted 
the  man  as  she  did  ;  we  may  add  that  fewer  men 
would  have  deserved  it. 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  345 

Emanuel  Bayard  did.  Her  heart  knew  him  for 
one  of  the  sons  of  light,  who  will  not,  because  he 
cannot,  cause  the  woman  whom  he  loves  an  hour's 
regret  that  she  has  believed  in  him  utterly  and 
told  him  so.  Now,  the  value  of  a  woman's  intui- 
tion in  most  of  the  problems  or  relations  of  life 
cannot  be  overestimated ;  when  she  loves,  it  is  the 
least  reliable  of  her  attributes  or  qualities.  Helen 
in  her  composed  way  recognized  this  fact  perfectly, 
but  it  gave  her  no  uneasiness. 

"  My  own  perception  might  fail  me,"  she  wrote. 
"  You  could  not.  It  is  not  my  own  sense  of  what 
is  best  to  do  that  I  am  trusting,  in  this :  it  is 
you." 

When  he  read  these  words,  he  put  the  paper  to 
his  lips,  and  laid  his  face  upon  it,  and  covered  it 
from  the  sight  even  of  his  own  eyes. 

The  date  of  Professor  Carruth's  return  was  set 
for  early  October.  In  September  Bayard  received 
from  Helen  the  news  that  her  mother  had  met 
with  an  accident  —  a  fall ;  an  arm  was  broken,  and, 
at  the  age  of  the  patient,  the  surgeon  forbade  the 
voyage.  The  Professor  would  get  back  to  his 
lecture-room,  as  he  must.  The  two  ladies  were  in- 
definitely delayed  in  Berlin. 

The  winter  proved  a  bleak  one,  and  went  with 
Bayard  as  was  to  be  expected.  The  devotee  had 
yet  to  learn  how  a  woman's  absence  may  work 
upon  a  lover ;  but  of  this,  since  he  had  no  right  to 
do  so,  he  did  not  complain.  Headlong,  fathoms 


346  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

down  into  his  work  he  leaped,  and  with  the  diver's 
calm  he  did  the  diver's  duty.  The  new  chapel  pro- 
gressed after  the  manner  of  its  kind.  Bayard  had 
peremptorily  insisted  upon  the  severest  economy  of 
plan,  demanding  a  building  which  should  be  a 
"  shelter  for  worship,"  he  said,  and  nothing  more. 
Not  a  waste  dollar  went  into  architecture.  Not  a 
shingle  went  into  debt.  No  mortgage  desecrated 
the  pulpit  of  Christlove  Church.  He  built  what 
he  could  pay  for,  and  nothing  more.  The  dedica- 
tion of  the  building  was  expected  to  take  place  in 
the  spring. 

Meanwhile,  his  audiences  grew  upon  his  hands ; 
and  Wind  over  First  Church  looked  darkly  afi 
Windover  town  hall.  Orthodoxy,  decorum, 
property,  position,  gazed  at  gaping  pews,  and 
regretted  that  "  these  temperance  movements  es- 
tranged themselves  from  the  churches." 

Obscurity,  poverty,  religious  doubt,  sin  and 
shame  and  repentance  jammed  the  aisles  to  hear 
"  the  Christman  "  interpret  decency  and  dignity 
and  the  beauty  of  holiness.  He  spoke  to  these, 
not  with  the  manner  of  preachers,  but  with  the 
lips  and  heart  of  a  man.  Week  after  week 
strange,  unkempt,  unlettered  seamen  poured  in  ; 
they  stood  sluggishly,  like  forming  lava,  to  listen 
to  him.  Certain  of  his  audiences  would  have 
honored  Whitefield  or  Robertson.  Bayard's  soul 
seemed  that  winter  alight  with  a  sacred  conflagra- 
tion. He  prayed  and  wrought  for  Windover  as  a 
tongue  of  flame  goes  up  to  the  sky  —  because  it 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  347 

was  the  law  of  life  and  fire.  It  is  pathetic  to 
think,  now,  how  it  would  have  comforted  the  man 
if  he  had  known  how  much  they  loved  him  —  these 
undemonstrative  people  of  the  sea,  for  whom  he 
gave  himself.  The  half  of  it  was  never  told  him. 
Censure,  and  scorn,  and  scandal,  and  the  fighting 
of  foes  in  the  dark,  he  knew.  The  real  capacity 
for  affection  and  loyalty  which  existed  in  the 
rough,  warm  heart  of  Windover  he  sometimes 
thought  he  understood.  He  did  not  see  —  as  we 

r"5 

see  now  —  that  he  had  won  this  allegiance. 

This  was  the  more  obscure  to  him  because  the 
tension  between  himself  and  the  liquor  interests  of 
Windover  was  growing  quietly  into  a  serious 
thing,  and  heavily  occupied  his  attention.  And 
here  we  know  that  he  was  seldom  deceived  or 
blinded. 

His  methods  were  deliberate,  his  moves  were 
intelligent,  he  ran  no  stupid  risks,  he  measured 
his  dangers,  he  took  them  in  the  name  of  good  cit- 
izenship and  good  Christianity,  and  strode  on  to 
their  consequences  with  that  martial  step  charac- 
teristic of  him.  Of  this  chapter  of  the  winter's 
story,  he  wrote  little  or  nothing  to  Helen.  She 
heard  how  the  chapel  grew,  how  the  library 
gathered,  and  the  smoking-room  was  fitted  ;  about 
bhe  hope  of  a  gymnasium,  the  vision  of  a  bowling- 
all^y,  the  schedule  for  lectures  and  entertainments  ; 
all  his  dreams  and  schemes  to  give  homeless  and 
tempted  men  shelter  and  happiness  under  the  rising 
roof  of  Christlove ;  —  all  the  little  pleasures  and 


348  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

hopes  of  the  missionary  life  she  shared,  as  Helen 
had  it  in  her  to  share  the  serious  energy  of  a  man's 
life.  Upon  the  subject  of  the  dangers  he  was 
silent.  The  extent  to  which  these  existed  she 
could  not  measure ;  for  Helen  belonged  to  those 
social  and  religious  circles  into  whose  experience 
the  facts  in  the  remote  lives  of  that  worthy  class 
of  people  known  as  temperance  agitators  do  not 
enter.  She  had  no  traditions  to  enlighten  her, 
and  her  own  joyous  nature  vaguely  filled  in  the 
darker  outlines  of  her  lover's  life.  How  should 
the  summer  girl  understand  the  winter  Windover? 
She  thought  of  Bayard's  real  situation  with  little 
more  vividness  than  if  he  had  been  a  missionary 
in  Darkest  Africa.  Pleasant  sketches  of  Job  Slip 
and  Joey,  little  reminiscences  of  Captain  Hap,  and 
Lena,  pretty,  womanly  plans  for  replacing  the 
burned  furniture  and  decorations  flitted  across  the 
leisurely  continental  tour  by  which  she  escorted 
her  mother  homewards.  Mrs.  Carrutli  was  now 
quite  recovered,  but  had  developed  the  theory 
that  the  dangers  of  a  midwinter  voyage  were  les- 
sened by  every  week's  delay.  As  a  result,  the 
two  ladies  engaged  passage  in  February,  at  the 
height  of  the  gales. 

It  was  a  bitter  winter.  Two  hundred  Windover 
fishermen  were  drowned ;  and  poverty  of  the 
dreariest  kind  sat  sullenly  in  the  tragic  town. 
Bayard  worked  till  he  staggered  for  the  women 
and  children  whom  the  sea  bereft.  Afterwards  a 
cry  went  up  out  of  scores  of  desolated  homes 


A    SINGULAR   LIFE.  349 

which  told  what  the  man  had  been  and  done  in 
Windover,  when  the  gales  went  down0 

One  night,  a  short  time  before  Helen  was  to 
sail,  there  happened  to  Bayard  one  of  those  little 
mysteries  which  approach  us  so  much  oftener  tban 
we  recognize  them,  that  we  have  never  properly 
classified  them  ;  and  may  be  long  yet  in  doing  soc 

He  had  been  in  his  own  rooms  since  noon  ;  for 
there  was  a  heavy  snowstorm  on,  and  he  was  con- 
scious of  obvious  physical  inability  to  brave  the 
weather  unless  the  call  of  duty  should  be  louder 
than  a  certain  oppression  on  his  lungs,  which  he 
had  been  forced  of  late  to  recognize  more  often 
than  usual.  It  was  a  gray  day  at  Mrs.  Granite's. 
Jane  was  sad,  and  coughed.  Her  mother  had  cried 
a  good  deal  of  late,  and  said  that  "  Jane  was  goin' 
off  like  her  Aunt  Annie  before  her." 

Ben  Trawl  came  sullenly  and  seldom,  now,  to  see 
the  reluctant  girl. 

Mrs.  Granite  thought  if  Jane  could  go  to  her 
Aunt  Annie's  second  cousin  Jenny  in  South 
Carolina,  for  a  spell,  she  would  be  cured ;  but 
Mrs.  Granite  said  climate  was  only  meant  for  rich 
folks  ;  she  said  you  lived  and  died  here  in  Wind- 
over,  if  your  lungs  was  anyways  delicate,  like 
frozen  herring  packed  into  a  box.  She  was  almost 
epigrammatic  —  for  Mrs  Granite. 

Bayard  had  been  sitting  in  his  study-chair, 
writing  steadily,  while  his  mind,  with  his  too  sensi- 
tive sympathy,  followed  the  fortunes  of  these  poor 
women  who  made  him  all  the  home  he  knew.  It 


350  A    SINGULAR   LIFE. 

was  towards  six  o'clock,  and  darkening  fast.  The 
noise  on  the  beach  opposite  the  cottage  was  heavy ; 
and  the  breakers  off  Ragged  Rock  boomed  mightily. 

Snow  was  falling  so  thickly  that  he  could  not 
see  the  water.  The  fog-bell  was  tolling,  and  yells 
of  agony  came  from  the  whistling-buoy.  It  was 
one  of  the  days  when  a  man  delicately  reared 
winces  with  a  soreness  impossible  to  be  understood 
unless  experienced,  from  life  in  a  place  and  in  a 
position  like  his  ;  when  the  uncertain  value  of  the 
ends  of  sacrifice  presents  itself  to  the  mind  like 
the  spatter  from  a  stream,  of  vitriol ;  when  the 
question,  Is  what  I  achieve  worth  its  cost  ?  burns 
in  upon  the  bravest  soul,  and  gets  no  answer  for 
its  scorching. 

Bayard  laid  down  his  pen  and  paper,  and  looked 
patiently  out  of  the  window  ;  putting  his  empty 
hand  in  his  pocket  as  he  did  so. 

His  eyes  gazed  into  the  curtain  of  the  whirling 
snow.  He  wondered  how  far  out  to  sea  it  extended  ; 
how  many  miles  of  it  dashed  between  himself  and 
Helen.  It  was  one  of  the  hours  when  she  seemed 
to  fill  the  world. 

The  snowflakes  took  on  fantastic  shapes  —  so ! 
That  was  the  way  she  held  out  her  white  hands. 
The  soft  trailing  of  her  gown  sounded  in  the 
room.  If  he  turned  his  head,  should  he  see  her 
standing,  a  vision  in  purple  and  gold,  smiling, 
warm,  and  sweet  ?  It  would  be  such  a  disappoint- 
ment not  to  find  her !  Rather  believe  that  he 
should,  if  he  would,  and  so  not  stir. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  351 

Suddenly  his  hand  in  his  own  pocket  struck  an 
object  whose  character  he  did  riot  at  the  moment 
recall.  He  drew  it  out  and  looked  at  it.  It  was 
the  key  of  his  old  home  in  Beacon  Street. 

For  three  years,  perhaps,  he  had  not  thought  of 
his  uncle's  words:  "Keep  your  latch-key.  You 
will  want  to  use  it,  some  day." 

Bayard  regarded  the  latch-key  steadily.  The 
senseless  thing  burned  his  palm  as  if  it  were  trying 
to  articulate. 

He  never  sought  to  explain  to  himself,  and  I  see 
no  reason  why  we  should  explain  for  him,  the  sub- 
tile meaning  which  went  from  the  metal  to  the 
man. 

The  key  said,  "  Go !  " 

And  Bayard  went.  He  made  such  efforts  as  all 
cool-headed  people  make,  to  buffet  the  inexplicable, 
and  to  resist  an  unreasonable  impression.  But, 
after  an  hour's  protest  with  himself,  he  yielded  to 
the  invisible  summons. 

"  It  is  a  long  while  since  I  have  seen  my  uncle," 
he  reasoned.  "  This  may  be  as  good  a  time  as  any 
other  to  look  him  up." 

He  dressed  for  the  storm,  and  took  the  nine 
o'clock  train  to  Boston. 

It  was  blowing  a  blizzard  when  he  arrived  in 
town  ;  and  eleven  o'clock.  He  took  a  carriage  and 
drove  to  his  uncle's  house.  The  lights  were  out  on 
the  front  of  the  house,  and  the  servants  asleep. 
Bayard  stood  a  moment  irresolute.  The  folly  of 
his  undertaking  presented  itself  to  him  with  em- 


352  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

phasis,  now  he  was  there.  He  could  not  tell  when 
he  had  yielded  to  any  of  that  class  of  highly 
wrought  emotions  which  we  call  presentiments, 
or  "  leadings."  Impatient  with  himself,  and  sud- 
denly vividly  aware  that  Mr.  Hermon  Worcester 
was  a  man  who  particularly  objected  to  being 
disturbed  in  his  sleep,  Bayard  was  about  to  call 
the  cab  back  to  take  him  away,  when  he  perceived 
that  the  driver  had  started  off,  and  was  laboring 
heavily  up  Beacon  Street,  with  the  snow  to  the 
hubs  of  the  wheels.  (Who  has  ever  fathomed 
the  inscrutable  mind  of  the  Boston  cabman  who 
has  to  be  snowed  under,  before  he  will  get  on 
runners  ?)  Resisting  no  longer,  Bayard  softly  put 
his  key  in  the  lock. 

It  creaked  a  little,  for  it  had  grown  rusty  in  the 
Windover  salts,  but  the  boy's  key  turned  in  the 
man's  hand,  and  admitted  him  loyally  into  his  old 
home. 

The  hall  was  dark,  and  the  house  still.  He 
brushed  off  the  snow  in  silence,  and  stood  wonder- 
ing what  to  do  next.  He  felt  mortified  at  his  own 
lack  of  good  sense. 

Why  was  he  here?  And  what  reason  could  he 
give  for  this  stupendous  foolishness  ?  He  dripped 
on  ths  Persian  rugs  awhile,  and,  finding  neither 
enlightenment  nor  consolation  in  this  moist  occupa- 
tion, proceeded  to  take  off  his  overcoat  and  hang 
it  on  his  own  nail  on  the  mahogany  hat-tree  under 
the  stairs.  When  had  such  a  shabby  overcoat  put 
that  venerable  piece  of  furniture  to  the  blush? 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  353 

Never,  if  one  excepted  the  case  of  the  Vermont 
clergyman  who  had  been  known  to  take  a  lunch 
with  his  benefactor,  and  who  received  a  barrel 
of  old  clothes  the  following  week.  Bayard  hung 
up  his  wet  hat,  too,  in  the  old  place,  took  off  his 
shoes^  and  crept  upstairs  in  his  stockings,  as  he 
had  done  —  how  many  hundred  nights,  coming 
home  from  Cambridge,  late,  in  college  days  ? 

His  uncle's  door  was  closed,  but  to  his  surprise, 
he  found  the  door  of  his  own  room  open.  He  crept 
in.  It  seemed  warm  and  pleasant  —  how  incredibly 
pleasant  and  natural !  The  register  seemed  to  be 
open.  Oh,  the  luxury  of  a  furnace !  The  wet  and 
tired  man  crawled  up,  feeling  his  way  in  the  famil- 
iar dark,  and  got  down  by  the  register.  He  re- 
membered where  the  safety-matches  used  to  be, 
that  struck,  and  made  no  sound.  Groping,  he 
found  them,  in  their  paper  match-box,  set  within 
the  old  bronze  one.  He  struck  one,  softly,  and 
looked  about.  In  the  little  flare  he  saw  that  the 
room  was  just  as  it  had  always  been.  Nothing 
was  changed  or  disturbed,  except  that  his  books 
had  gone  to  Mrs.  Granite's.  His  bed  lay  turned 
back,  open  for  the  night,  as  it  always  was;  the 
big,  soft  pillow,  the  luxurious  mattresses,  the  light 
warmth  of  the  snowy  blankets,  invited  him.  His 
mother's  picture  hung  over  the  head  of  his  bed. 
Those  old  pipes  and  silk  menus  and  college  traps 
and  trifles  were  crossed  on  the  wall  by  the  bureau ; 
his  gun  was  there,  and  his  fishing-rods. 

Bayard  was  about  to  yield  to  his  weariness,  and 


354  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

crawl  into  his  own  bed,  thinking  to  see  his  uncle 
in  the  morning,  as  a  sane  man  should,  when  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  slight  sound  in  Mr. 
Worcester's  room,  and  something  about  it  struck 
the  young  man  unpleasantly. 

Without  noise  he  opened  the  door  of  the  bath- 
room  intervening  between  his  own  and  his  uncle's, 
apartments.  Then  he  perceived  a  crack  of  light 
at  the  threshold  of  Mr.  Worcester's  closed  door. 

As  he  stood  uncertain,  and  troubled,  the  sound 
which  he  had  heard  was  repeated.  It  seemed  to 
resemble  the  effort  of  difficult  breathing,  and  was 
accompanied  by  a  slight  groan. 

Then  a  thick  voice  called,  — 

"  Partredge  ?  " 

"Partredge  always  did  sleep  like  the  dead," 
thought  Bayard.  "  I  hope  he  does  n't  neglect  my 
uncle,  now  he  is  growing  old." 

"Nancy?  "  summoned  the  voice  again. 

Nancy  always  woke  easily  and  good-naturedly. 
But  Nancy  heard  nothing  now.  Bayard,  afraid  to 
shock  the  old  man  Uy  so  astounding  an  appearance, 
was  moving  quickly  and  quietly  to  find  the  ser- 
vants, when  something  caused  him  to  change  his 
purpose.  Apparently,  Mr.  Worcester  had  tried 
to  reach  the  bell  —  it  was  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
kind,  with  a  long,  embroidered  bell-handle  —  he 
Jftad  partly  crossed  the  room,  when  Bayard  inter- 
cepted the  fall,  and  caught  him. 

The  gas  was  lighted,  and  recognition  was  instant. 
Without  shock,  it  seemed  without  surprise,  Her- 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  355 

mon  Worcester  lay  back  in  the  young  man's  arms, 
and  smiled  pleasantly  into  his  face. 

"I  thought  you  would  use  the  latch-key  —  some 
night,"  he  said  with  difficulty.  "  You  've  chosen 
the  right  one,  Manuel.  The  servants  did  not  hear 
—  and  —  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  not  —  quite  —  well,  my 
boy." 

After  this,  he  said  nothing ;  but  lingered  for 
three  days,  without  evident  suffering,  and  with 
evident  content,  making  signs  that  Manuel  should 
not  leave  him ;  which  he  did  not,  to  the  end. 

Hermon  Worcester  passed  on  serenely,  in  the 
Faith,  and  the  prominence  and  usefulness  thereof; 
though  the  last  prayer  that  he  heard  on  earth  came 
from  the  lips  of  the  affectionate  heretic  in  whose 
arms  he  died. 

Bayard  had  been  so  long  out  of  the  world  and 
the  ways  of  it,  that  it  did  not  occur  to  him,  till  he 
received  the  summons  of  the  family  lawyer,  that 
he  would  be  required  to  be  present  at  the  reading 
of  his  uncle's  will. 

"  As  the  nearest  of  kin,  my  dear  sir,"  suggested 
the  attorney,  "  the  occasion  will  immediately  con- 
cern you,  doubtless." 

Bayard  bowed,  in  silence.  He  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  explain  to  the  attorney  that  he  had 
been,  for  a  long  time,  aware  of  the  fact  of  his  dis~ 
inheritance. 

"  Possibly  Uncle  may  have  left  me  his  library," 
he  thought,  "  or  the  furniture  of  my  old  room." 

He  had,  indeed,  received  the  library.     The  rest 


356  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

of  Hermon  "Worcester's  fortune,  barring  the  usual 
souvenirs  to  relatives,  had  been  divided  between 
Mr.  Worcester's  favorite  home  missionary  asso- 
ciations and  Cesarea  Seminary,  of  which  he  had 
been,  for  thirty  years,  trustee. 

The  house  on  Beacon  Street,  with  its  contents, 
went  unreservedly,  "and  affectionately,"  the  tes- 
tator had  expressed  it,  to  his  nephew,  Emanuel 
Bayard. 

"  I  think,"  observed  the  lawyer  at  the  first  decent 
opportunity,  "  that  Mr.  Worcester  intended,  or  — 
hoped  that  you  might  make  your  plans  of  life  in 
accordance  with  such  circumstances  as  would  en- 
able you  to  keep,  and  to  keep  up,  the  home- 
stead." 

"  But  of  course,"  added  the  attorney,  shrewdly 
reading  Bayard's  silent  face,  "  that  might  be  —  as 
you  say — impossible." 

"  I  said  nothing,"  replied  Bayard  in  a  low  voice. 

"The  place  is  yours,  without  conditions,"  pur- 
sued the  lawyer,  with  polite  indifference.  "  It  can 
be  sold,  or  converted  into  income  —  rented,  if  you 
please,  if  ever  unfortunately  necessary.  It  would 
seem  a  pity.  It  would  bring  so  little.  But  still, 
it  could,  of  course,  be  done/' 

"  What  do  you  call  a  little  ?  "  asked  Bayard. 

"  Oh,  enough  for  a  small  fresh-water  Professor 
or  retail  grocer  to  get  along  on,  if  he  knew  how," 
replied  the  Back  Bay  lawyer  carelessly. 

He  mentioned  the  figures. 

The  house  was  old,  and  in  need  of  repair ;  the  fur- 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  357 

niture  out  of  date,  and  worn.  The  probable  values 
were  not  large,  as  the  attorney  said,  lo  the 
pastor  from  Angel  Alley  their  possession  seemed 
to  represent  the  shock  of  nature  involved  in  a 
miracle. 


XXV. 

HELEN  was  to  sail  for  Boston  the  following  Sat 

o 

urdajo  It  lacked  three  days  of  that  date.  It 
being  out  of  the  question  to  reach  her,  now,  by 
letter,  Bayard  cabled  to  her  :  — 

Will  meet  you  arrival  steamer.  Future  clear 
before  me.  I  await  you.  E.  B. 

To  this  impulsive  message  he  found  himself 
expecting  a  reply.  The  wan  missionary  bad  burst 
into  a  boyish  and  eager  lover.  Oh,  that  conscien- 
tious, cruel'  past !  He  dashed  it  from  him.  He 
plunged  into  the  freedom  of  his  heart.  In  honor 

I  O 

—  in  his  delicate  honor  —  he  could  win  her,  now. 

Helen  did  not  answer  the  cable  message.  A 
hundred  hindrances  might  have  prevented  her; 
yet  he  had  believed  she  would.  He  thought  of 
her  ardent,  womanly  candor,  her  beautiful  courage, 
her  noble  trust.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  a 
woman  has  two  natures,  this  for. the  unfortunate 
and  that  for  the  fortunate  lover.  One  he  had 
tasted ;  the  other  he  had  yet  to  know. 

He  vibrated  restlessly  to  and  fro  between  Wind= 
over  and  Boston,  where  his  presence  was  urgently 
required  in  the  settlement  of  his  uncle's  affairs, 
A  snowstorm  set  in,  and  increased  to  a  gale.  Ten 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  359 

days  passed,  somehow.  The  steamer  was  due  in 
twenty-four  hours.  She  did  not  arrive. 

Bayard  had  lived  in  Wiudover  long  enough  to 
acquire  the  intelligent  fear  of  the  sea  which  char- 
acterizes the  coast ;  and  when  the  next  day  went, 
and  another,  and  the  boat  was  admitted  at  head- 
quarters to  be  three  days  overdue,  he  suffered  the 
unspeakable.  It  had  been  nothing  less  than  a 
terrible  midwinter  gale.  Wrecks  lined  the  coast ; 
glasses  scoured  it ;  watchers  thronged  it ;  friends 
besieged  the  offices  of  the  steamship  company. 
The  great  line  which  boasted  that  it  had  never  lost 
a  life  held  its  stanchest  steamer  three  days  —  four 
days  overdue. 

It  was  like  him  that  he  did  not  overlook  his 
duty  in  his  trouble,  but  stood  to  his  post,  and 
remembered  the  little  service  appointed  for  that 
most  miserable  evening  when  he  was  expected  to 
be  with  his  people.  Those  who  were  present  that 
night  say  that  the  scene  was  one  impossible  to 
forget.  Looking  more  like  death  than  life,  the 
preacher  prayed  before  them  "  to  the  God  of  the 
sea." 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  felt  that  he  knew  what 
Windover  could  suffer.  Now  the  torment  of  women 
all  their  lives  watching  for  returning  srils  entered 
into  his  soul ;  those  aged  men  looking  for  the  sons 
who  never  came  back;  the  blurred  eyes  peering  off 
Windover  Point  to  see  the  half-mast  flag  on  the 
schooner  as  she  tacked  up  the  bay ;  the  white  lips 
that  did  not  ask,  when  the  boat  came  to  anchor, 


360  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Which  is  it  ?  "  because  they  dared  not  —  all  this, 
now,  he  understood. 

His  personal  anguish  melted  into  the  great  sum 
of  misery  in  the  seaport  town. 

"  If  she  comes  back  to  me,"  he  thought,  "  how  I 
shall  work  for  them  — my  poor  people  !  " 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  this  devout,  unselfish 
man  understood  that  something  else  than  consecra- 
tion is  needed  to  do  the  best  and  greatest  thing  by 
the  human  want  or  woe  that  leans  upon  us.  Now 
that  he  took  hold  on  human  experience,  he  saw 
that  he  had  everything  to  learn  from  it.  The 
knowledge  of  a  great  love,  the  lesson  of  the 
common  tie  that  binds  the  race  together  —  these 
taught  him,  and  he  was  their  docile  scholar. 

Five  days  overdue !  .  .  .  Six  days.  Bayard  had 
gone  back  to  Boston,  to  haunt  the  offices  and  the 
docks.  Old  friends  met  him  among  the  white- 
lipped  watchers,  and  a  classmate  said :  — 

"Thank  God,  Bayard,  you  haven't  wife  and 
child  aboard  her." 

He  added  :  — 

"  Man  alive  !  You  look  like  the  five  days 
dead!" 

Suddenly,  the  stir  ran  along  .the  crowd,  and 
a  whisper  said :  — 

«  They've  sighted  her!  .  .  .  She' sin!'9 

Then  came  the  hurrah.  Shouts  of  joy  reechoed 
about  him.  But  Bayard's  head  fell  upon  his  breast 
in  silence.  At  that  moment  he  was  touched  upon 
the  arm  by  a  beautiful  Charter  Oak  cane,  and, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  361 

looking  up,  he  saw  the  haggard  face  of  the  Pro- 
fessor of  Theology. 

"  I  was  belated,"  thickly  articulated  the  Professor 
with  dry  lips.  "  I  came  straight  from  the  lecture- 
room.  It  is  the  course  on  the  '  Nature  of  Eternal 
Punishment,'  —  a  most  important  course.  I  felt  it 
my  duty  to  be  at  my  desk.  But  —  Bayard,  I 
think  I  shall  substitute  to-morrow  my  lecture 
(perhaps  you  may  recall  it)  on  the  4  Benevolence 
and  Beneficence  of  God.' ' 

The  two  men  leaped  into  the  tug  together,  and 
ploughed  out  to  the  steamer. 

Helen  was  forward,  leaning  on  the  rail.  Her 
thick  steamer-dress  blew  like  muslin  in  the  heavy 
wind.  Her  eyes  met  Bayard's  first  —  yes,  first. 
Her  father  came  in  second,  but  his  were  too  dim 
to  know  it. 

"Mother  is  in  the  cabin,  dear  Papa!"  cried 
Helen ;  "  we  have  to  keep  her  warm  and  still,  you 
know." 

His  daughter's  precious  kiss  invited  him,  but 
the  old  man  put  Helen  gently  aside,  and  dashed 
after  his  old  wife. 

For  that  moment  Helen  and  Bayard  stood  to- 
gether. Before  all  the  world  he  would  have  taken 
her  in  his  arms,  but  she  retreated  a  little  step. 

"  Did  you  get  my  message  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  answer  it  ?  " 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 


362  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  I  thought  it  would  do  just  as  well  when  I  got 
here," 

"  And  you  might  have  been  —  you  might  never 
have  got  here  at  all ! "  cried  Bayard  fiercely. 

"  Have  you  been  anxious  ? "  asked  Helen  de- 
murely. 

He  did  not  think  it  was  in  her  to  coquette 
with  a  man  in  a  moment  like  that,  and  he  made  her 
no  reply.  Then  Helen  looked  full  in  his  face,  and 
saw  the  havoc  on  it. 

"Oh,  you  poor  boy!"  she  whispered;  *'you 
poor,  poor  boy  !  " 

This  was  in  the  afternoon ;  and  he  was  com- 
pelled to  see  her  carried  off  to  Cesarea  on  her 
father's  arm,  without  him.  There  was  no  help  for 
it ;  and  he  waited  till  the  next  day,  unreconciled 
and  nervous  in  the  extreme.  He  had  been  so 
overworn  and  overwrought,  that  his  mind  took  on 
feverish  fancies. 

"  Something  may  happen  by  to-morrow,"  he 
thought,  "  and  I  shall  have  never  —  once  "  — 

He  rebuked  even  his  own  thought,  even  then,  for 
daring  to  dream  of  the  touch  of  her  lips.  But  the 
dream  rode  over  his  delicacy,  and  rushed  on. 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  day  he  went  to 
Cesarea,  and  sought  her  in  her  father's  house.  It 
was  a  cold,  dry,  bright  day.  Cesarea  shivered 
under  her  ermine.  The  Professor's  house  was 
warm  with  the  luxurious,  even  warmth  of  the 
latest  modern  heater,  envied  by  the  rest  of  the 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  363 

Faculty,  in  the  old-fashioned,  draughty  houses  of 
the  Professors'  Row.  Flowers  in  the  little  win- 
dow conservatory  of  the  drawing-room  breathed 
the  soft  air  easily,  and  were  of  rich  growth 
and  color.  Helen  was  watering  the  flowers.  She 
colored  when  she  saw  him,  and  put  down  the 
silver  pitcher  which  she  had  abstracted  from  the 
breakfast-room  for  the  purpose  of  encouraging  her 
lemon  verbena,  that  had,  plainly,  missed  her  while 
she  was  abroad.  She  wore  a  purple  morning- 
gown  with  plush  upon  it.  She  had  a  royal  look. 

"  How  early  you  have  come ! "  she  said  half 
complainingly. 

He  paid  no  attention  to  her  tone,  but  deliber- 
ately shut  the  door,  and  advanced  towards  her. 

"I  have  come,"  he  said,  "to  stay ;  that  is  —  if 
you  will  let  me,  Helen." 

"  Apparently,"  answered  Helen,  taking  up  the 
pitcher,  "  I  am  not  allowed  a  choice  in  the  matter." 

But  he  saw  that  the  silver  pitcher  shook  in  her 
hand. 

"  No,"  he  said  firmly,  "  I  do  not  mean  to  give 
you  any  choice.  I  mean  to  take  you.  I  do  not 
mean  to  wait  one  hour  more." 

He  held  out  his  arms,  but  suspended  them,  not 
touching  her.  The  very  air  which  he  imprisoned 
around  her  seemed  to  clasp  her.  She  trembled  in 
that  intangible  embrace. 

"  It  will  be  a  poor  man's  home,  Helen  —  but  you 
will  not  suffer.  I  can  give  you  common  comforts. 
I  cabled  to  you  the  very  hour  that  I  knew.  .  .  . 
Oh,  I  have  trusted  your  trust!  "  he  said. 


364  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  And  you  may  trust  it,"  whispered  Helen,  sud- 
denly lifting  her  eyes. 

His,  it  seemed  to  her,  were  far  above  her  —  how 
blinding  beautiful  joy  made  them ! 

Then  his  starved  arms  closed  about  her,  and  his 
lips  found  hers. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  sat  in  his  study. 
The  winter  sun  struck  his  loaded  shelves;  the 
backs  of  his  books  inspected  him  tenderly.  At 
the  western  window,  on  the  lady's  desk  which  was 
reserved  for  Mrs.  Carruth,  her  sewing-basket  stood. 
The  Professor  glanced  at  it  contentedly.  He  had 
never  been  separated  from  his  wife  so  long  before, 
and  they  had  been  married  thirty-five  years.  She 
had  unpacked  that  basket  and  taken  it  into  the 
study  that  morning,  with  a  girlish  eagerness  to  sit 
down  and  darn  a  stocking  while  the  Professor 
wrote. 

"  This  is  a  great  gratification,  Statira,"  he  had 
said. 

Mrs.  Carruth  had  gone  out,  now,  to  engage  in 
the  familiar  delights  of  a  morning  contest  with 
the  Cesarea  butcher,  and  the  Professor  was  alone 
when  Emanuel  Bayard  sturdily  knocked  at  the 
study  door. 

The  Professor  welcomed  the  young  man  with 
some  surprise,  but  no  uncertain  warmth.  He  ex<= 
pressed  himself  as  grateful  for  the  prompt  attention 
of  his  former  pupil,  on  the  joyful  occasion  of  this 
family  reunion. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  365 

"  And  it  was  kind  of  you,  Bayard,  too  —  meeting 
the  ladies  on  that  tug.  I  was  most  agreeably  sur- 
prised. I  was  wishing  yesterday  —  in  fact,  it 
occurred  to  me  what  a  comfort  some  young  fellow 
would  have  been  whom  I  could  have  sent  down,  al! 
those  anxious  days.  But  we  never  had  a  son.  Pray 
sit  down,  Mr.  Bayard.  ...  I  am  just  reading  the 
opinions  of  Olshausen  on  a  most  interesting  point. 
I  have  collected  valuable  material  in  Berlin.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  talk  it  over  with  you.  I  found 
Professor  Kammelschkreiter  a  truly  scholarly  man. 
His  views  on  the  errors  in  the  Revised  Version  are 
the  most  instructed  of  any  I  have  met." 

"Professor,"  said  Bayard  stoutly,  "will  you 
pardon  me  if  I  interrupt  you  for  a  minute?  I 
have  come  on  a  most  important  matter.  I  am 
sorry  to  seem  uncivil,  but  the  fact  is  I  —  I  cannot 
wait  another  moment,  sir.  .  .  .  Sir,  I  have  the 
honor  to  tell  you  that  your  daughter  has  consented 
to  become  my  wife." 

At  this  truly  American  declaration,  the  Professor 
of  Theology  laid  down  his  copy  of  Olshausen,  and 
stared  at  the  heretic  missionary. 

"My  daughter!"  he  gasped,  "your  wife?  — 
I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  added,  when  he  saw  the 
expression  of  Bayard's  face.  "  But  you  have  taken 
me  altogether  by  surprise.  I  may  say  that  such  a 
possibility  has  n6 ver  —  no,  never  once  so  much  as 
occurred  to  me." 

"  I  have  loved  her,"  said  Bayard  tenaciously, 
"  for  three  years.  I  have  never  been  able  to  ask 


366  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

her  to  marry  me  till  now.  I  think  perhaps  my 
uncle  meant  to  make  it  possible  for  me  to  do  so, 
but  I  do  not  know.  I  am  still  a  poor  man,  sir, 
but  I  can  keep  her  from  suffering.  She  does  me 
the  undeserved  honor  to  love  me,  and  she  asked 
me  to  tell  you  so." 

The  Professor  had  risen  and  was  pacing  the 
study  hotly.  His  face  was  rigid.  He  waved  his 
thin,  long  fingers  impatiently  at  Bayard's  words. 

"  Scholars  do  not  dwell  upon  paltry,  pecuniary 
facts  like  parents  in  lower  circles  of  society  !  "  cried 
the  Professor  with  superbly  unconscious  hauteur. 
"  There  would  have  lacked  nothing  to  my  daughter's 
comfort,  sir,  in  any  event  —  if  the  right  man  had 
wooed  her.  I  was  not  the  father  to  refuse  him 
mere  pecuniary  aid  to  Helen's  happiness." 

"  And  I  was  not  the  lover  to  ask  for  it,"  observed 
Bayard  proudly. 

"  Hum — m — m,"  said  the  Professor  He  stopped 
his  walk  across  the  study  floor,  and  looked  at  Bay- 
ard with  troubled  respect. 

"  I  will  not  take  her  from  you  at  once,"  urged 
Bayard  gently  ;  "  we  will  wait  till  fall  —  if  I  can. 
She  has  said  that  she  will  become  my  wife,  then." 

His  voice  sank.  He  spoke  the  last  words  with 
a  delicate  reverence  whioh  would  have  touched  a 
ruder  father  than  the  Professor  of  Theology. 

"  Bayard,"  he  said  brokenly,  "  you  always  were 
my  favorite  student.  I  could  n't  help  it.  I  always 
felt  a  certain  tenderness  for  you.  I  respect  your 
intellectual  traits,  and  your  spiritual  quality, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  367 

Poverty,  sir?  What  is  poverty?  But,  Bayards 
you  are  not  sound/" 

Against  this  awful  accusation  Bayard  had  no 
reply ;  and  the  old  Professor  turned  about  ponder- 
ously, like  a  man  whose  body  refused  to  obey  the 
orders  of  his  shocked  and  stricken  mind. 

"  How  can  I  see  my  daughter,  my  daughter,  the 
wife  of  a  man  whom  the  Ancient  Faith  has  cast 
out  ?  "  he  pleaded  piteously. 

He  lifted  his  shrunken  hands,  as  if  he  reasoned 
before  an  invisible  tribunal.  His  attitude  and  ex- 
pression were  so  solemn  that  Bayard  felt  it  impossi- 
ble to  interrupt  the  movement  by  any  mere  lover's 
plea.  Perhaps,  for  the  first  time,  he  understood  then 
what  it  meant  to  the  old  man  to  defend  the  beliefs 
that  had  ruled  the  world  of  his  youth  and  vigor ;  he 
perceived  that  they,  too,  suffered  who  seemed  to  be 
the  inflicters  of  suffering ;  that  they,  too,  had  their 
Calvary  —  these  determined  souls  who  doggedly 
died  by  the  cross  of  the  old  Faith  in  whose  shelter 
their  fathers  and  their  fathers'  fathers  had  lived  and 
prayed,  had  battled  and  triumphed.  Bayard  felt 
that  his  own  experience  at  that  moment  was  an 
intrusion  upon  the  sanctuary  of  a  sacred  struggle. 
He  bowed  his  head  before  his  Professor,  and  left 
the  study  in  silence. 

But  Helen,  who  had  the  small  reverence  for  the 
theologic  drama  characteristic  of  those  who  have 
been  reared  upon  its  stage,  put  her  beautiful  arms 
around  his  neck  and,  laughing,  whispered  :  — 

"  Leave  the  whole  system  of  Old  School  Ortho* 
doxy  to  me !  I  can  manage  !  " 


368  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  You  may  manage  him,"  smiled  Bayard,  "  but 
can  you  manage  it?  " 

"  Wait  a  day,  and  see !  "  said  Helen. 

He  would  have  waited  a  thousand  for  the  kiss 
with  which  she  lifted  up  the  words. 

The  next  day  she  wrote  him,  at  Wind  over,  where 
he  was  dutifully  trying  to  preach  as  if  nothing  had 
happened : — 

"  Papa  says  I  have  never  been  quite  sound  my= 
self,  and  that  he  supposes  I  will  do  as  I  please,  as 
I  always  have." 

There  followed  a  little  love-letter,  so  deliciously 
womanly  and  tender,  that  Bayard  did  not  for  hours 
open  the  remainder  of  his  mail.  Wrhen  he  did  so, 
he  read  what  the  Professor  of  Theology  had  writ- 
ten, after  a  night  of  prayer  and  vigil  such  as  only 
aged  parents  know. 

"  MY  DEAR  BAYARD,"  the  letter  said,  —  "Take 
her  if  you  must,  and  God  be  with  you  both ! 
I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  impose  the  shadow 
of  my  religious  convictions  upon  the  happiness  of 
my  child.  I  can  battle  for  the  Truth  with  men 
and  with  demons.  I  cannot  fight  with  the  appeal 
of  a  woman's  love.  I  would  give  my  life  to  make 
Helen  happy,  and  to  keep  her  so.  Do  you  as 
much!  Yours  sincerely, 

"HAGGAI  CARRUTH. 

"  P.  S.  —  We  will  resume  our  discussion  on  the 
views  of  Professor  Kammelschkreiter  at  some  more 
convenient  season0" 


XXVI. 

EARLY  June  came  to  Windover  joyously  that 
year.  May  had  been  a  gentle  month,  warmer  than 
its  wont,  and  the  season  was  in  advance  of  its 
schedule. 

Mrs.  Carruth,  found  paling  a  little,  and  thought 
to  be  less  strong  since  her  accident  abroad,  had 
been  ordered  to  the  seaside  some  three  or  four 
weeks  before  the  usual  flitting  of  the  family. 
Helen  accompanied  her ;  the  Professor  ran  down 
as  often  as  he  might,  till  Anniversary  Week  should 
set  him  free  to  move  his  ponderously  increasing 
manuscript  on  the  "Errors  in  the  Revised  Ver- 
sion "  from  Cesarea  to  the  clam  study.  The  long 
lace  curtains  blew  in  and  out  of  the  windows  of  the 
Flying  Jib  ;  Helen's  dory  glittered  in  two  coats  of 
fresh  pale-yellow  paint  upon  the  float ;  and  Helen, 
in  pretty  summer  gowns  of  corn  color,  or  violet,  or 
white,  listened  on  the  piazza  for  the  foot  ring  of 
her  lover.  She  was  lovely  that  spring,  with  the 
loveliness  of  youth  and  joy.  Bayard  watched  her 
through  a  mist  of  that  wonder  and  that  worship 
which  mark  the  highest  altitudes  of  energy  in  a 
man's  life.  It  was  said  that  he  had  never  wrought 
for  Windover,  in  all  his  lonely  time  of  service 
there,  as  he  did  in  those  few  glorified  weeks. 


370  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

It  is  pleasant  to  think  that  the  man  had  this 
draught  of  human  rapture ;  that  he  tasted  the 
brim  of  such  joy  as  only  the  high  soul  in  the 
ardent  nature  knows. 

Helen  offered  him  her  tenderness  with  a  sweet 
reserve,  alternating  between  compassion  for  what 
lie  had  suffered,  and  moods  of  pretty,  coquettish 
economy  of  his  present  privilege,  that  taunted  and 
enraptured  him  by  turns.  He  floated  on  clouds ; 
he  trod  on  the  summer  air. 

Their  marriage  was  appointed  for  September: 
it  was  Helen's  wish  to  wait  till  then ;  and  he  sub- 
mitted with  such  gentleness  as  it  wrung  her  heart, 
afterwards,  to  remember. 

"  We  will  have  one  perfectly  happy  summer," 
she  pleaded.  "  People  can  be  lovers  but  once." 

"  And  newly  wed  but  once,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"  Dear,"  said  Helen,  with  troubled  eyes,  "  it 
shall  be  as  you  say.  You  shall  decide." 

"God  will  decide  it,"  replied  the  lover  unex- 
pectedly. 

His  eyes  had  a  look  wrhich  Helen  could  not 
follow.  She  felt  shut  out  from  it;  and  both 
were  silent. 

Her  little  dreams  and  plans  occupied  hours 
of  their  time  together.  She  was  full  of  schemes 
for  household  comfort  and  economy,  for  serving 
his  people,  for  blessing  Windover.  She  talked 
of  what  could  be  done  for  Job  Slip  and  Mari, 
Joey,  Lena,  Captain  Hap  and  Johnny's  mother, 
Mrs.  Granite  and  poor  Jane.  Her  mind  dwelt 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  371 

much  upon  all  these  children  of  the  sea  who 
had  grown  into  his  heart.  "Jane,"  she  said, 
"  should  have  her  winter  in  the  South."  She 
spoke  of  Jane  with  a  reticent  but  special  gentle- 
ness. They  would  rent  the  cottage ;  they  would 
furnish  the  old  dreary  rooms. 

Helen  did  not  come  to  her  poor  man  quite 
empty-handed.  The  Professor  had  too  much  of 
the  pride  of  total  depravity  left  in  him  for  that. 

"  I  shall  be  able  to  buy  my  own  gowns,  sir,  if  you 
please  !  "  she  announced  prettily.  "  And  I  am  go- 
ing to  send  Mrs.  Granite  —  with  Jane  —  to  her  aunt 
Annie's  cousin  Jenny's  (was  that  it?)  in  South 
Carolina,  next  winter,  to  get  over  that  Windover 
cough.  We  've  got  to  go  ourselves,  if  you  don't 
stop  coughing.  No  ?  We  '11  see  !  " 

"  I  shall  stop  coughing,"  cried  Bayard  joyously. 

She  did  not  contradict  him,  for  she  believed  in 
Love  the  Healer,  as  the  young  and  the  beloved  do» 
So  she  went  dreaming  on. 

"  I  came  across  a  piece  of  gold  tissue  in  Flor- 
ence ;  it  will  make  such  a  pretty  portiere  in  place 
of  that  old  mosquito-net !  And  we  '11  make  those 
dismal  old  rooms  over  into  " 

And  Bayard,  who  had  thought  never  to  know 
Paradise  on  earth,  but  only  to  toil  for  Heaven, 
closed  her  sentence  by  one  ecstatic  word. 

The  completion  of  the  chapel,  still  delayed  after 
the  fashion  of  contractors,  was  approaching  the 
belated  dedication  day  of  which  all  Windover 
talked,  and  for  which  a  growing  portion  of  Wind- 


372  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

over  interested  itself.  Bayard  was  over-busy  for  a 
newly  betrothed  man.  His  hours  with  Helen  were 
shortened;  his  brief  snatches  of  delight  marked 
spaces  between  days  of  care.  Erected  upon  the 
site  of  the  burned  building,  the  new  chapel  rose 
sturdily  in  the  thick  and  black  of  Angel  Alley0 
The  old,  illuminated,  swinging  sign  remained,  — 
"for  luck,"  the  fishermen  said.  It  was  to  be 
lighted  on  the  day  when  the  first  service  should 
be  held  in  the  new  Christlove. 

There  came  a  long,  light  evening,  still  in  the 
early  half  of  June.  Bayard  was  holding  some  ser- 
vice or  lecture  in  the  town,  and  had  late  appoint- 
ments with  his  treasurer,  with  Job  Slip,  and  Cap- 
tain Hap.  He  saw  no  prospect  of  freedom  till  too 
late  an  hour  to  call  on  Helen,  and  had  gone  down 
to  tell  her  so  ;  had  bade  her  good-night,  and  left 
her.  She  had  gone  out  rowing,  in  the  delicious 
loneliness  of  a  much  loved  and  never  neglected 
girl,  and  was  turnjng  the  bow  of  the  dory  home- 
wards. She  drifted  and  rowed  by  turns,  idle  and 
happy,  dreamy  and  sweet.  It  was  growing  dark, 
and  the  boats  were  setting  shorewards.  One,  she 
noticed  (a  rough,  green  fishing-dory  from  the 
town),  lay,  rudely  held  by  a  twist  of  the  painter, 
to  the  cliffs,  at  the  left,  below  the  float.  The  dory 
was  empty.  A  sailor  hat  and  an  old  tan-colored 
reefer  lay  on  the  stern  seat.  Two  girls  sat  en  the 
rocks,  sheltered  in  one  of  the  deep  clefts  or  chasms 
which  cut  the  North  Shore,  talking  earnestly  to- 
gether. One  of  them  had  her  foot  upon  the 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  373 

painter.  Neither  of  them  noticed  Helen;  she 
glanced  at  them  without  curiosity,  rowed  in,  tossed 
her  painter  to  the  keeper  of  the  float,  and  went  up 
to  the  house.  Her  father  was  in  Windover  that 
night;  he  and  her  mother  were  discussing  the 
inconceivable  prospect  of  an  Anniversary  without 
entertaining  the  Trustees ;  they  were  quite  ab- 
sorbed in  this  vStupendous  event.  Helen  strolled 
out  again,  and  off  upon  the  cliff. 

She  had  but  just  tossed  her  Florentine  slumber- 
robe  of  yellow  silk  upon  the  rocks,  and  thrown 
herself  upon  it,  when  voices  reached  her  ear. 
Eavesdropping  is  an  impossible  crime  on  Wind- 
over  Point,  where  the  cliffs  are  common  trysting- 
ground  ;  still,  Helen  experienced  a  slight  discom- 
fort, and  was  about  to  exchange  her  rock  for  some 
less  public  position,  when  she  caught  a  word  which 
struck  the  blood  to  her  heart,  and  back  again,  like 
a  smart,  stinging  blow. 

The  voices  were  the  voices  of  two  girls.  The 
stronger  and  the  bolder  was  speaking. 

"  So  I  come  to  tell  you.  Do  as  you  please.  If 
you  don't  let  on,  I  shall." 

"  Lena !  "  groaned  the  other,  "  are  you  sure  ? 
Is  n't  there  some  mistake  ?  " 

"Not  a  chance  of  any,"  replied  Lena 

promptly.  "Do  you  s'pose  I  'd  thrust  myself 
upon  you  this  way,  and  tell  for  nothin'  ?  Lord,  1 
know  how  decent  girls  feel,  bein'  seen  with  the 
likes  of  me.  That 's  why  I  set  it  after  dark,  and 
never  come  nigh  your  house.  Besides,  he  's  there. 


374  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

I  warn't  a-goin'  to  make  no  talk,  you  better  "believe, 
Jane  Granite.  I  've  seen  enough  o'  that." 

"Mr.  Bayard  says  you  are  a  —  good  girl,  now," 
faltered  Jane,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  "  I  'm 
sure  he  would  n't  want  me  to  be  ashamed  to  be 
seen  with  you  —  now.  And  I  —  I  'm  much  obliged 
to  you,  Lena.  Oh,  Lena !  what  ever  in  the 
world  are  we  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  "  said  Lena  sharply ;  "  why,  head  'em 
off  ;  that 's  all !  It  only  needs  a  little  horse  sense, 
and  —  to  care  enough.  I  'd  be  drownded  in  the  mud 
in  the  inner  harbor  in  a  land  wind  —  I  'd  light  a 
bonfire  in  the  powder  factory,  and  stand  by  it,  if 
that  would  do  him  any  good.  I  guess  you  would, 
too." 

Jane  made  no  answer.  She  felt  that  this  was 
a  subject  which  could  not  be  touched  upon  with 
Lena.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  how  Jane  looked. 

"  Why,"  said  the  other,  "  you  're  shaking  like  a 
topsail  in  a  breeze  o'  wind !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  What  is  your  plan  ? 
What  do  you  mean  to  have  me  do  ?  "  asked  Jane, 
whose  wits  seemed  to  have  dissolved  in  terror. 

"Get  him  out  of  Windover,"  coolly  said  Lena; 
"leastways  for  a  spell.  Mebbe  it  '11  blow  by0 
There  ain't  but  one  thino1  I  know  that  '11  do  it= 

O 

Anyhow,  there  ain't  but  one  person." 

"  I  can't  think  what  you  can  mean ! "  feebly 
gasped  Jane. 

"  She  can,"  replied  Lena  tersely.     Jane  made* 
a  little  inarticulate  moan.     Lena  went  on  rapidly, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  375 

"  You  go  tell  her.  That 's  what  I  corns  for.  No« 
thin'  else  —  nor  nobody  else  —  can  do  it.  That 's 
your  part  of  this  infernal  business.  Mine  's  done* 
I  've  give  you  the  warnin'.  Now  you  go  ahead." 

"Oh,  are  you  sure?"  repeated  Jane  weakly; 
w  is  n't  it  possible  you ' ve  got  it  wrong,  somehow  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible  the  dust  in  the  street  don't  hear 
the  oaths  of  Windover !  "  exclaimed  Lena  scorn- 
fully. "  Do  you  s'pose  there  ain't  a  black  deed 
doin'  or  threatenin'  in  Angel  Alley  that  /  don't 
know  ?  I  tell  you  his  life  ain't  worth  a  red  herrin', 
no,  nor  a  bucketful  of  bait,  if  them  fellars  has 
their  way  in  this  town !  .  .  .  It  's  the  loss  of  the 
license  done  it.  It 's  the  last  wave  piled  on.  It 's 
madded  'em  to  anything.  It  's  madded  'em  to 
murder.  .  .  .  Lord,"  muttered  Lena,  "  if  it  come 
to  that,  would  n't  I  be  even  with  'em !  " 

She  grated  her  teeth,  like  an  animal  grinding  a 
bone  ;  took  her  foot  from  the  painter,  sprang  into 
the  fishing-dory,  and  rowed  with  quick,  powerful 
strokes  into  the  dark  harbor. 

Helen,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  descended 
the  cliff  and  peremptorily  said :  — 

"Jane,  I  heard  it.  Tell  me  all.  Tell  me 
everything,  this  minute." 

Jane  who  was  sobbing  bitterly,  stopped  like  a 
child  at  a  firm  word :  and  with  more  composure 
than  she  had  yet  shown,  she  gave  her  version  of 
Lena's  startling  story. 

Lena  was  right,  she  said ;  the  rum  people  were 
v-ery  angry  with  Mr.  Bayard :  he  had  got  so  many 


376  A  SINGULAR  LIFE, 

shops  shut  up ;  and  other  places ;  he  had  shut  up 
so  much  in  Angel  Alley  this  year.  And  now  old 
Trawl  had  lost  his  license.  Folks  said  a  man 
could  n't  make  a  decent  living  there  any  longer. 

"  That  's  what  Ben  said,"  observed  Jane,  with  r 
feeble  sense  of  the  poignancy  of  the  phrase.  "  A 
man  could  n't  make  an  honest  living  there,  now. 
But  there  's  one  thing,"  added  Jane  with  hang- 
ing head.  "  Lena  don't  know  it.  I  could  n't  tell 
Lena.  God  have  mercy  on  me,  for  it  's  me  that 
helped  it  on  !  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Jane,"  replied  Helen 
coldly ;  "  how  could  you  injure  Mr.  Bayard,  or 
have  any  connection  with  any  plot  to  do  him 
harm?" 

"  I  sent  Ben  off  last  Sunday  night,"  said  Jane 
humbly.  "  I  sent  him  marching  for  good.  I  told 
him  I  never  could  marry  him.  I  told  him  I 
could  n't  stand  it  any  longer.  I  told  him  what 
I  heard  on  Ragged  Rock  —  that  night  —  last 
year." 

"  What  did  you  hear  on  Ragged  Rock?"  asked 
Helen,  still  distant  and  doubtful. 

"  Did  n't  the  minister  ever  tell  you  ?  "  replied 
Jane.  "  Then  I  won't." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Helen,  after  an  agitated  si 
lence,  "  I  shall  not  urge  you.  But  if  Mr.  Bayard's 
life  is  in  real  danger  —  I  cannot  believe  it !  "  cried 
the  sheltered,  happy  woman.  Such  scenes,  such 
possibilities,  belonged  to  the  stage,  to  fiction ;  not 
to  New  England  life.  The  Professor's  daughter 


A  SINGULAR  LtFE.  377 

jfiad  a  healthy  antagonism  in  her  to  the  excessive^ 
the  too  dramatic.  Her  mind  grasped  the  facts  of 
the  situation  so  slowly  that  the  Windover  girl  half 
pitied  her. 

"  You  don't  see,"  said  Jane.  "  You  don't  under* 
stand.  You  ain't  brought  up  as  we  are." 

"  If  Mr.  Bayard  is  in  danger  —  "  repeated  Helen 
"  Jane  !  "  she  cried  sharply,  thinking  to  test  the 
girl's  sincerity  and  judgment,  "should  you  have 
come  and  told  me  what  Lena  said,  if  I  had  not 
overheard  it  ?  " 

"  Miss  Carruth,"  answered  Jane,  with  a  dignity 
of  her  own,  "  don't  you  know  there  is  not  one  of 
his  people  who  would  not  do  anything  to  save 
Mr.  Bayard?" 

Through  the  dark  Jane  turned  her  little,pinched 
face  towards  this  fortunate  woman,  this  other  girl, 
blessed  and  chosen.  Her  dumb  eyes  grew  bright, 
and  flashed  fire  for  that  once ;  then  they  smoul- 
dered, and  their  spaniel  look  came  on  again. 

"  You  ought  to  speak  differently  to  me,"  she 
said.  "  You  should  feel  sorry  for  me?  because  it 's 
along  of  Ben.  I  tried  to  keep  it  up  —  all  this  while* 
«  I  haven't  dared  to  break  with  him,  I  thought  if 
I  broke,  and  we  'd  been  keeping  company  so  long, 
maybe  he  might  do  a  harm  to  Mr.  Bayard.  Then 
it  come  to  me  that  I  couldn't,  couldn't,  could ' rit 
bear  it,  not  another  time !  And  I  told  him  so* 
And  Ben,  he  swore  an  awful  oath  to  me,  and  cleared 
out.  And  then  Lena  came  and  told." 

44  What  was  it  Ben  swore  ?  "  asked  Helen,  whose 


378  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

sanguine  heart  was  beginning  to  sink  in  earnest. 
"  This  is  no  time  for  being  womanly,  and  —  and 
not  saying  things.  If  it  takes  all  the  oaths  in  the 
catalogue  of  Angel  Alley,  it  is  my  right  to  know 
what  he  said,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  tell  me !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Jane  stolidly,  "  he  said :  '  Damn 
him  to  hell !  If  we  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  married,  he 
shan't,  neither  !  '  " 

"  Thank  you,  Jane,"  said  Helen  gently,  after  a 
long  silence.  She  held  out  her  hand;  Jane  took 
it,  but  dropped  it  quickly. 

"Do  you  know  the  details?  The  plan?  The 
plot  —  if  there  is  a  plot  ?  "  asked  Helen,  without 
outward  signs  of  agitation. 

"  Lena  said  they  said  Christlove  should  never 
be  dedicated,"  answered  Jane  drearily.  "  Not  if 
they  had  to  put  the  parson  out  of  the  way  to  stop 
it." 

"  Oh!" 

"  That 's  what  Lena  said.  She  thought  if  Mr. 
Bayard  could  be  got  out  of  town  for  a  spell,,  right 
away,  Lena  thought  maybe  that  would  set  *em  off 
the  notion  of  it.  I  told  her  Mr.  Bayard  would  n't 
go.  She  said  you  'd  see  to  that." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen  softly,  "  I  will  see  to  that." 

Jane  made  no  reply,  but  started  unexpectedly  to 
her  feet.  The  two  girls  clambered  down  from  the 
cliff  in  silence,  and  began  to  walk  up  the  shore. 
At  the  path  leading  to  the  hotel,  Jane  paused  and 
shrank  away. 

"  How  you  cough  !  "  said  Miss  Carruth  compas* 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  379 

sionately.  "  You  are  quite  wet  with  this  heavy  dew. 
Do  come  into  the  cottage  with  me." 

She  put  her  hand  affectionately  on  the  damp 
shoulder  of  Jane's  blue  and  white  calico  blouse. 

The  hotel  lights  reached  faintly  after  the  figures 
oi  the  two.  Jane  looked  stunted  and  shrunken ; 
Helen's  superb  proportions  seemed  to  quench  her. 
The  fisherman's  daughter  lifted  her  little  homely 
face. 

"I  don't  suppose,"  she  faltered,  "you'd  be  will- 
ing to  be  told.  But  mother  and  me  have  done  for 
him  so  long  —  he  ain't  well,  the  minister  ain't  — 
there  's  ways  he  likes  his  tea  made,  and  we  het  the 
bricks,  come  cold  weather,  for  him  —  and  —  all 
those  little  things.  We  've  tried  to  take  good  care 
of  Mr.  Bayard !  It 's  been  a  good  many  years !  " 
said  Jane  piteously.  It  was  more  dreadful  to  her 
to  give  up  boarding  the  minister,  than  it  was  that 
he  should  marry  the  summer  lady  in  the  gold  and 
purple  gowns. 

"  1  suppose  you  and  he  will  go  somewhere  ?  " 
she  added  bitterly. 

"  We  shan't  forget  you,  Jane,"  said  Helen 
gently. 

The  calico  blouse  shoulder  shook  off  the  delicate 
hand  that  rested  upon  it. 

"I  won't  come  in,"  she  said.  "I'll  go  right 
3h3me." 

Jane  turned  away,  and  walked  across  the  cliffs. 
The  hotel  lights  fell  short  of  her,  and  the  darkness 
swallowed  her  undersized,  pathetic  figure,  as  the 


380  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

mystery  of  life  draws  down  the  weak,  the  uncomely, 
and  the  unloved. 

Jane  went  home,  and  unlocked  her  bureau 
drawer.  From  beneath  the  sachet-bag,  on  which 
her  little  pile  of  six  handkerchiefs  rested  precisely, 
she  drew  out  an  old  copy  of  Coleridge.  The  book 
was  scented  with  the  sachet,  and  had  a  sickly  per- 
fume; it  was  incense  to  Jane.  She  turned  the 
leaves  to  find  "  Alph,  the  sacred  river ;  "  then  shut 
the  book,  and  put  it  back  in  the  bureau  drawer. 
She  did  not  touch  it  with  her  lips  or  cheek.  She 
handled  it  more  tenderly  than  she  did  her  Bible. 

Left  to  herself,  Helen  felt  the  full  force  of  the 
situation  fall  upon  her,  in  a  turmoil  of  fear  and 
perplexity.  The  whole  thing  was  so  foreign  to 
her  nature  and  to  the  experience  of  her  protected 
life,  that  it  seemed  to  her  more  than  incredible. 
There  were  moments  when  she  was  in  danger  of 
underrating  the  facts,  and  letting  the  chances 
take  their  course  —  it  seemed  to  her  so  impossible 
that  Jane  and  Lena  should  not,  somehow,  be 
mistaken. 

Her  mind  was  in  a  whirlwind  of  doubt  and  dis- 
may. With  a  certain  coolness  in  emergencies 
characteristic  of  her,  she  tried  to  think  the 
position  out,  by  herself.  This  futile  process 
occupied  perhaps  a  couple  of  hours. 

It  was  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  when 
the  Professor,  with  a  start,  laid  down  his  manuscript 
upon  the  Revised  Version.  For  the  door  of  the 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  381 

clam  study  had  opened  quietly,  and  revealed  his 
daughter's  agitated  face. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "  I  am  in  a  great  trouble.  I 
have  come  to  you  first  —  to  know  what  to  do  — 
before  I  go  to  him.  I've  been  thinking,"  she 
added,  "  that  perhaps  this  is  one  of  the  things  that 
fathers  are  for." 

Like  a  little  girl  she  dropped  at  his  knee,  and 
told  him  the  whole  story. 

"  I  could  n't  go  to  a  man,  and  ask  him  to  marry 
me,  without  letting  you  know,  Papa ! "  said  the 
Professor's  daughter. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  reached  for  his 
Charter  Oak  cane  as  a  man  gropes  for  a  staff  on 
the  edge  of  a  precipice.  The  manuscript  chapter 
on  the  Authenticity  of  the  Fourth  Gospel  fell  to 
the  floor.  The  Professor  and  the  cane  paced  the 
clam  study  together  feverishly. 

The  birds  were  singing  when  Helen  and  her 
father  stopped  talking,  and  wearily  stole  back  to 
the  cottage  for  an  hour's  rest. 

"  You  could  go  right  home,"  said  the  old  man 
gently.  "  The  house  is  open,  and  the  servants  are 
there.  I  am  sure  your  mother  will  wish  it,  when- 
ever she  is  acquainted  with  the  facts." 

"  "We  won't  tell  Mother,  just  yet,  Papa  —  not 
till  we  must,  you  know.  Perhaps  Mr.  Bayard 
won't  —  won't  take  me  !  " 

The  Professor  straightened  himself,  and  looked 
about  with  a  guilty  air.  He  felt  as  if  he  were 
party  to  an  elopement.  Eager,  ardent,  boyishly 


382  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

sympathetic  with  Helen's  position,  quivering  with 
that  perfect  thoughtfulness  which  she  never  found 
in  any  other  than  her  father's  heart,  the  Professor 
of  dogmatic  Orthodox  Theology  flung  himself  into 
the  emergency  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  never 
written  a  lecture  on  Foreordination,  or  preached 
a  sermon  on  the  Inconceivability  of  Second  Pro- 
bation. 

It  was  he,  indeed,  and  none  other,  who  summoned 
Bayard  to  Helen's  presence  at  an  early  hour  of  the 
morning;  and  to  the  credit  of  the  Department, 
and  of  the  ancient  Seminary  in  whose  stern  faith 
the  kindest  graces  of  character  and  the  best 
graciousness  of  manner  have  never  been  extin- 
guished, be  it  said  that  Professor  Haggai  Carruth 
did  not  once  remind  Emanuel  Bayard  that  he  was 
meeting  the  consequences  of  unsoundness,  and  the 
natural  fate  of  heresy.  Nobly  sparing  the  young 
man  any  reference  to  his  undoubtedly  deserved 
misfortune,  the  Professor  only  said :  — 

"  Helen,  here  is  Mr.  Bayard,"  and  softly  shut 
the  door. 

Helen's  hearty  color  was  quite  gone.  Such  a 
change  had  touched  her,  that  Bayard  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  horror,  and  took  her  impetuously 
In  his  arms. 

'''Love,  what  ails  you?"  he  cried  with  quick 
anxiety. 

Arrived  at  the  moment  when  she  must  speak,  if 
ever,  Helen's  courage  and  foresight  failed  hei 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  .        383 

utterly.  She  found  herself  no  nearer  to  knowing 
what  to  say,  or  how  to  say  it,  than  she  had  been  at 
the  first  moment  when  she  heard  the  girls  talking 
on  the  rocks.  To  tell  him  her  fears,  and  the 
grounds  for  them,  would  be  the  fatal  blunder, 
How  could  she  say  to  a  man  like  Bayard  :  "  Your 
life  is  in  danger.  Come  on  a  wedding-trip,  and 
save  yourself !  "  Yet  how  could  she  quibble,  or 
be  dumb  before  the  truth ! 

Following  no  plan,  or  little,  preacted  part,  but 
only  the  moment's  impulse  of  her  love  and  her 
trouble,  Helen  broke  into  girlish  sobs,  the  first 
that  he  had  ever  heard  from  her,  and  hid  her  wet 
face  against  his  cheek. 

"  Oh,"  she  breathed,  "  I  don't  know  how  to  tell 
you  !  But  I  am  so  unhappy  —  and  I  have  grown 
so  anxious  about  you!  I  don't  see  .  .  .  how  I 
can  bear  it  ...  as  we  are."  .  .  . 

Her  heart  beat  against  his  so  wildly,  that  she 
could  have  said  no  more  if  she  had  tried.  But  she 
had  no  need  to  try.  For  he  said  :  — 

"  Would  you  marry  me  this  summer,  dear  ?  It 
would  make  me  very  happy.  ...  I  have  not  daied 
to  ask  it." 

"  I  would  marry  you  to-morrow."  Helen  lifted 
her  head,  and  "  shame  departed,  shamed  "  from  her 
sweet,  wet  facec  "  I  would  marry  you  to-day.  I 
want  to  be  near  you.  I  want  ...  if  anything  — 
whatever  comes=" 

"Whatever  comes,"  he  answered  solemnly,  "we 
ought  to  be  together  —  now." 


384  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Thus  they  deceived  each  other  —  neither  own- 
ing to  the  tender  fault  —  with  the  divine  deceit  of 
love. 

Helen  comforted  herself  that  she  had  not  said 
a  word  of  threat  or  danger  or  escape,  and  that 
Bayard  suspected  nothing  of  the  cloudburst  which 
hung  over  him.  He  let  her  think  so,  smiling 
tenderly.  For  he  knew  it  all  the  time  ;  and  more, 
far  more  than  Helen  ever  knew. 


XXVII. 

THE  Professor  threw  himself  into  the  situation 
with  a  fatherly  tenderness  which  w6nt  to  Bayard's 
heart ;  but  the  theologian  was  disconcerted  by  this 
glimpse  into  real  life.  He  had  been  so  occupied 
with  the  misery  of  the  next  world  that  he  had 
never  investigated  the  hell  of  this  one.  He  was 
greatly  perplexed. 

"  As  man  to  man,  Bayard,"  he  said,  "  you  must 
tell  me  the  exact  amount  of  truth  in  those  womanly 
alarms  which  agitate  my  daughter's  heart,  and  to 
which  I  allowed  myself  to  yield  without,  perhaps, 
sufficient  reflection.  I  find  it  difficult  to  believe 
that  any  harm  can  actually  befall  you  in  a  New 
England  town.  That  Windover  would  really  in- 
jure you  ?  It  seems  to  me,  in  cool  blood,  incredible." 

"  Windover  would  not,"  replied  Bayard,  smiling. 
"  They  don't  love  me,  but  they  don't  mob  a  man 
for  that.  Windover  won't  harm  me,  Did  you 
ever  hear  a  phrase,  common  along  the  coast,  here 
Professor  — '  Rum  done  it '  ?  " 

The  Cesarea  Professor  shook  his  head.  "  I  am 
not  familiar  with  the  phrase,"  he  urged ;  "  it  lacks 
in  grammar  "  — 

"  What  it  gains  in  pith,"  interrupted  Bayard ; 
"but  it  sums  up  the  situation.  A  business  that 
thrives  on  the  ruin  of  men  is  not  likely  to  be  sen- 


386  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

sitive  in  the  direction  of  inflicting  unnecessary 
suffering.  I  have  successfully  offended  the  liquor 
interests  of  the  whole  vicinity.  The  new  chapel 
represents  to  them  the  growth  of  the  onl}  power 
in  this  town  which  they  have  found  reason  tc  fear, 
That 's  the  amount  of  it." 

"But  the  —  churches,  Bayard  —  the  Christian 
classes  ?  The  ecclesiastical  methods  of  restraining 
vice?" 

44  The  ecclesiastical  methods  do  not  shut  up  the 
saloons,"  said  Bayard  gently.  "  Angel  Alley  is 
not  afraid  of  the  churches." 

44 1  am  not  familiar  with  the  literature  of  the 
temperance  movement,"  observed  the  Professor 
helplessly.  "  It  is  a  foreign  subject  to  me.  I  am 
not  prepared  to  argue  with  you." 

44  You  will  find  some  of  it  on  my  library  shelves," 
said  Bayard  ;  44  it  might  interest  you  some  time  to 
glance  at  it." 

44  When  my  manuscript  on  the  New  Version  is 
completed,  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  doing  so,"  re- 
pied  the  Professor  politely  ;  44  but  the  point  now  is, 
just  what,  and  how  much  do  you  fear  from  the 
state  of  things  to  which  you  refer?  Helen  is  a  level- 
headed girl.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  she  has  not 
wrought  herself  into  a  hysterical  fright  without 
basi ;.  I  have  acted  on  my  knowledge  of  my 
daughter's  nature.  I  understand  that^  if  I  am  un 
instructed  in  the  temperance  agitation." 

44  Helen  has  not  been  misinformed,  nor  has  she 
ovei  estimated  anything,"  returned  Bayard  quietly, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  387 

u  Is  it  a  mob  you  fear  ?  " 

"  Possibly ;  but  probably  nothing  of  the  kind. 
My  chief  danger  is  one  from  which  it  is  impossible 
to  escape." 

"  And  that  is?"  — 

"  Something  underhanded.  There  is  a  personal 
element  in  it." 

Bayard  rose,  as  if  he  would  bring  the  con  versa 
tion  to  a  cheek. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  done,"  he  said,  "  nothing 
whatever.  Everything  shall  go  on,  precisely  as  it 
is  arranged.  I  shall  not  run  from  them." 

"  You  do  not  think  wise  to  defer  the  dedication 
—  for  a  time  ?  " 

"  Not  an  hour !  The  dedication  will  take  place 
a  week  from  Sunday." 

The  Professor  was  silent.  He  found  it  a  little 
difficult  to  follow  the  working  of  this  young  man's 
mind. 

"  And  yet,"  he  suggested  anxiously,  "  after  the 
marriage  —  to-morrow  —  you  will  take  the  tempo- 
rary absence,  the  little  vacation  which  your  friends 
advise?  You  will  not  think  better  of  that,  I  hope, 
for  Helen's  sake  ?  " 

"  I  shall  leave  Windover  for  a  week,  for  Helen's 
sake,  '  replied  Bayard  gravely. 

In  his  heart  he  thought  that  it  would  make  but 
little  difference  ;  but  she  should  have  it  to  remem- 
ber that  everything  had  been  done.  He  would  not 
be  foolhardy  or  obstinate.  The  sacred  rights  of 
the  wife  over  the  man  hail  set  in  upon  his  life 


388  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

She  should  be  gratified  and  comforted  in  every 
way  left  to  the  power  of  that  love  and  tenderness 
which  God  has  set  in  the  soul  abreast  of  duty  and 
honor.  He  would  give  the  agitation  in  Angel 
Alley  time  to  cool,  if  cool  it  could.  He  would  give 
himself  —  oh,  he  would  give  himself  — 

Helen,  in  the  next  room,  sat  waiting  for  him0 
She  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys  of  the  piano  ;  her 
foot  was  on  the  soft  pedal ;  she  sang  beneath  her 
breath,  — 

"  Komm  "begliicke  mich  ? 
.  .  .  Begliicke  mich  1  " 

Bayard  sought  her  in  a  great  silence.  He  lifted 
her  tender  face,  and  looked  down  upon  it  with  that 
quiver  on  the  lower  part  of  his  own  which  she 
knew  so  well;  which  always  meant  emotion  that 
he  did  not  share  with  her.  She  did  not  trouble 
him  to  try  to  have  it  otherwise.  She  clung  to 
him,  and  they  clasped  more  solemnly  than  passion- 
ately. 

Around  the  bridegroom's  look  in  Bayard's  face, 
the  magic  circle  of  the  seer's  loneliness  was  faintly 
drawn. 

If  God  and  love  had  collided  —  but,  thank  God ! 
He  and  Love  were  one. 

"  Lord,  I  have  groped  after  Thee,  and  to  know 
Thy  will,  and  to  do  it  if  I  could.  I  never  expected 
to  be  happy.  Dost  Thou  mean  this  draught  of 
tinman  joy  for  me  ?  " 

So  prayed  Bayard,  while  her  bright  head  lay 
upon  his  breast  with  the  delicate  and  gentle  sur- 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  389 

render  of  the  girl  who  will  be  wife  before  another 
sun  goes  down. 

Out  upon  the  piazza  of  the  Flying  Jib  the  Pro- 
fessor was  entertaining  visitors,  by  whose  call 
the  lovers  were  not  disturbed.  The  Reverend 
George  Fenton  had  unexpectedly  and  vaguely  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene.  He  was  accompanied  by 
a  lean,  thoughtful  man,  with  clerical  elbows  and 
long,  rustic  legs  i  being  no  other  than  Toinpkinton 
of  Cesarea  and  the  army  cape.  Professor  Car- 
ruth  had  taken  his  two  old  students  into  the 
confidence  of  the  family  crisis.  The  Reverend 
Mr.  Fenton  looked  troubled. 

"  I  had  a  feeling  that  something  was  wrong.  I 
have  been  impressed  for  days  with  a  sense  that 
I  ought  to  see  Bayard  —  to  help  him,  you  know 
—  to  offer  him  any  assistance  in  my  power.  He 
is  in  such  a  singular  position !  He  leads  such 
a  singular  life,  Professor !  It  is  hard  for  a  man 
situated  as  I  am,  to  know  precisely  what  to  do." 

"  The  only  thing  that  can  be  done  for  him,  just 
now,  that  I  see,"'  suggested  the  Professor  dryly, 
"is  to  find  him  a  supply  for  Sunday.  His  mar- 
riage to  my  daughter  will,  of  necessity,  involve  a 
short  absence  from  his  missionary  duties." 

"  I  wish  I  could  preach  for  him  !  "  cried  Fenton 
eagerly.  "  I  should  like  nothing  better.  I  should 
love  to  do  so  much  for  him.  He  never  has  any 
supplies  or  vacations,  like  the  rest  of  us.  Now  I 
think  of  it,  nobody  has  been  near  his  pulpit  for 
three  years,  to  help  him  out  —  I  mean  nobody 


390  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

whom  we  should  recognize.     I  Ve  half  a  mind  to 
consult  my  committee.     The  First  Church  "  — 

"/  will  preach  for  Bayard,"  interrupted  Tomp 
kinton  with  his  old.  slow  manner.  "  My  church  k 
so  small  —  we  are  not  important  across  the  Cape 
ther^  —  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  consult  my 
committee.  I  will  preach  for  him  with  all  my 
heart  ;  in  the  evening  at  all  events  —  all  day,  if 
the  Professor  here  will  find  me  a  supply  of  some 
sort." 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen,"  observed  the  Profes- 
sor quietly  ;  "  I  will  accept  your  offer,  Tompkinton, 
for  the  evening.  I  shall  myself  occupy  Mr.  Bay- 
ard's pulpit  in  Windover  town  hall  on  Sunday 
morning." 

"You,  Professor?" 

Fenton  turned  pale.  Tompkinton  gave  that  little 
lurch  to  his  shoulders  with  which,  for  so  many 
years,  he  had  jerked  on  the  army  cape  in  cold 
weather.  Tompkinton  was  well  dressed,  now,  well 
settled,  well  to  do,  but  the  same  simple,  manly 
fellow.  There  was  the  gentleman  in  this  grandson 
of  the  soil,  this  educated  farmer's  boy;  and  an 
instinct  as  true  as  the  spirit  of  the  faith  which  he 
preached  in  the  old,  unnoticed  ways,  and  with  the 
old,  unobserved  results.  Tompkinton  spent  his  life 
in  conducting  weekly  prayer  meetings,  in  com- 
forting old  people  in  trouble,  and  in  preaching 
what  he  had  been  taught,  as  he  had  been  taught  it. 
But  he  was  neither  a  coward  nor  a  cad  for  that. 

"  If  I  had  had  a  little  time  to  think  of  this," 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  391 

protested  Fenton.  "  My  committee  are,  to  a  man, 
opposed  to  this  temperance  movement,  and  our  re- 
lation to  Bayard  is,  of  course,  —  you  must  see, 
Professor,  —  peculiar  !  But  perhaps  "  — 

"  Oh,  Tompkinton  and  I  can  manage,"  replied 
the  Professor,  not  without  a  twinkle  in  his  deep 
eyes.  "  I  don't  suppose  the  First  Church  has 
ever  heard  of  us,  but  we  will  do  our  humble 
best." 

Now,  as  the  event  fell  out,  the  Professor  and 
Tompkinton  changed  their  programme  a  little; 
and  when  the  time  came  to  do  Bayard  this  frater- 
nal service,  —  the  first  of  its  kind  ever  offered  to 
him  by  the  clergymen  of  the  denomination  in 
which  he  was  reared,  —  the  Professor  drove  across 
the  Cape  in  the  hot  sun,  ten  miles,  to  fill  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Tompkinton's  little,  country  pulpit, 
and  Tompkinton  took  the  morning  service  for  his 
classmate. 

In  the  evening  the  Professor  of  Theology  from 
Cesarea  Seminary  occupied  the  desk  of  the  heretic 
preacher  in  Windover  town  hall.  The  hall  was 
thronged.  George  Fenton  preached  to  yawning 
pews ;  for  the  First  Church,  out  of  sheer,  unsanc- 
tified  curiosity,  lurched  over,  and  sixty  of  them 
went  to  hear  the  distinguished  Professor.  Bayard's 
own  people  were  present  in  the  usual  summer 
evening  force  and  character. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  looked  uncomfort- 
ably at  the  massed  and  growing  audience.  He 
was  sixty-eight  years  old,  and  in  all  his  scholarly 


392  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

and  Christian  life  he  had  never  stood  before  an 
audience  like  this.  He  opened  his  manuscript 
sermon,  —  he  had  selected  a  doctrinal  sermon  upon 
the  Nature  of  the  Trinity,  —  and  began  to  read  ix 
with  his  own  distinguished  manner. 

The  audience,  restrained  at  first  by  the  men 
effect  of  good  elocution  and  a  cultivated  voice 
were  respectful  for  awhile  ;  they  listened  hope 
fully ;  then  perplexedly ;  then  dully.  Sentence 
after  sentence,  polished,  and  sound  as  the  founda 
tions  of  Galilee  or  Damascus  Hall,  fell  softly  from 
the  lips  of  the  Cesarea  Professor  upon  the  ears  of 
the  Windover  fishermen.  Doctrine  upon  doctrine 
attacked  them,  and  they  knew  it  not.  Proof-text 
upon  proof-text  bombarded  them  in  vain. 

The  Professor  saw  the  faces  of  his  audience 
lengthen  and  fall ;  across  the  rude,  red  brows  of 
the  foreign  sailors  wonder  flitted ;  then  confusion  ; 
then  dismay.  Drunkards  and  reformed  men  and 
wretched  girls,  and  the  homeless,  wretched  people 
of  a  seaport  town,  stood  packed  in  rows  before 
the  Professor  of  Theology,  and  gaped  upon  him. 
Restlessness  struck  them,  and  began  to  run  from 
man  to  man. 

"  Shut  up  there ! "  whispered  Job  Slip,  punch- 
ing a  big  Swede.  "  Be  quiet,  can't  ye,  for  com- 
mon manners  !  You  '11  disgrace  Mr.  Bayard  ! " 

"Be  civil  to  the  old  cove,  for  the  parson's 
sake  ! "  commanded  Captain  Hap,  hitting  a  Finn, 
and  stepping  on  the  toes  of  a  Windover  seiner, 
who  had  presumed  to  snicker. 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  393 

"Why  don't  he  talk  English  then?*'  protested 
the  fisherman. 

A  dozen  men  turned  and  left  the  hall.  Half  a 
dozen  followed.  Some  girls  giggled  audibly.  A 
group  of  Norwegians  significantly  shuffled  their 
feet  on  the  bare  floor. 

The  Professor  of  Theology  laid  down  his  manu- 
script. It  occurred  to  him,  at  last,  that  his  audi- 
ence did  not  understand  what  he  was  saying.  It 
was  a  dreadful  moment.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
honored  life  he  had  encountered  the  disrespect  of 
a  congregation  which  he  could  not  command.  He 
laid  down  his  sermon  on  the  Nature  of  the  Trinity, 
and  looked  the  house  over. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said  distinctly,  "  that  I  am  not 
retaining  the  interest  of  this  congregation.  I  am 
not  accustomed  to  your  needs,  or  to  the  manner  in 
which  your  pastor  presents  the  Truth  to  you.  But 
for  his  sake,  you  will  listen  to  me,  I  am  sure." 

"  Lord,  yes,"  said  the  seiner  in  an  audible  whis- 
per ;  "  we  'd  listen  to  Bunker  Hill  Monyment  for 
him:9 

This  irreverence  did  not,  happily,  reach  the 
ears  of  the  Professor  of  Theology,  who,  with  his 
famous  ease  of  manner,  proceeded  to  say  :  — 

"  My  discourse  is  on  the  Nature  of  the  Trinity ; 
and  I  perceive  that  my  thoughts  on  this  subject 
are  not  your  thoughts,  and  that  my  ways  of  ex- 
pression are  not  your  ways,  and  that  an  inter pretei* 
is  needed  between  this  preacher  and  his  audience. 
...  I  have  been  thinking,  since  I  stood  at  this 


394  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

desk,  about  the  name  which  you  give  to  the  beau- 
tiful new  chapel  which  your  pastor  will  dedicate 
for  you,  God  willing,  next  Sunday  "  — 

From  a  remote  corner  of  the  hall  a  sound  like 
that  of  a  serpent  arose,  and  fell.  The  Professor- 
did  not  or  would  not  hear  it  (no  man  could  say 
which),  and  went  firmly  on. 

"  Christlove  you  call  your  chapel,  I  am  told. 
You  may  be  surprised  to  know  it,  but  the  fact  is  that 
the  sermon  which  I  have  been  preaching  to  you, 
and  the  thing  which  the  tender  and  solemn  name 
of  your  chapel  signifies,  are  one  and  the  same." 

"  I  don't  see  how  he  figgers  that,"  muttered  the 
seiner. 

"I  will  try  to  show  you  how,"  continued  the 
Professor,  as  if  he  had  heard  the  fisherman. 

He  abandoned  his  manuscript  on  the  Trinity, 
and  plunged  headlong  —  not  in  the  least  knowing 
how  he  was  to  get  out  again  —  into  a  short  extem- 
pore talk  upon  the  life  of  Christ.  The  fishermen 
listened,  for  the  old  preacher  held  to  it  till  they 
d'd ;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  commanded  their 
respect  and  attention,  he  wisely  stopped.  The 
service  came  to  a  sudden  but  successful  end ;  and 
the  exhausted  Professor  thoughtfully  retired  from 
his  first,  his  last,  his  only  experience  in  the  pulpit 
of  the  Unsound.  The  most  depressing  part  of  the 
occasion  was  that  his  wife  told  him  it  was  the  best 
sermon  she  had  heard  him  preach  in  thirty  years. 

But  Bayard  and  Helen  knew  these  things  not, 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  395 

nor  thought  of  them.  They  had  been  married,  as 
it  was  decided,  upon  that  Saturday,  the  day  before. 
Helen's  father  married  them.  There  was  no  wed- 
ding party,  no  preparation.  Helen  had  a  white 
gown,  never  worn  before ;  Jane  Granite  sent  some 
of  her  mother's  roses,  and  Mrs.  Carruth,  who 
distinguished  herself  by  abnormal  self-possession, 
fastened  one  of  the  roses  at  Helen's  throat.  It 
was  thought  best  that  Windover  should  know 
nothing  of  the  marriage  until  the  preacher  and 
his  bride  had  left  the  town  ;  so  it  was  the  quietest 
little  wedding  that  love  and  the  law  allow. 

And  Bayard  and  Helen  went  to  her  old  home 
in  the  glory  and  the  blossom  of  the  Cesarea  June. 
And  the  great  cross  came  out  upon  the  Seminary 
green,  for  the  moon  was  up  that  week. 

"  It  used  to  divide  us,"  she  whispered ;  "  it 
never  can  again." 

She  wondered  a  little  that  he  did  not  answer ; 
but  that  he  only  held  her  solemnly,  in  the  window 
where  they  stood  to  see  the  cross. 

Helen's  happy  nature  was  easily  queen  of  her. 
She  had  begun  to  feel  that  her  anxiety  for  Bay- 
ard's sake  was  overstrained.  Tragic  Windover 
slipped  from  her  consciousness,  almost  from  her 
memory.  She  felt  the  sacred  right  of  human  joy 
to  conquer  fate,  and  trusted  it  as  royally  as  she 
had  trusted  him.  In  spite  of  himself,  he  absorbed 
something  of  her  warm  and  brilliant  hopefulness. 
When  she  gave  herself,  she  gave  her  ease  of  heart. 
And  so  the  worn  and  worried  man  came  to  his  Eden. 


XXVIII. 

HELEN'S  happy  heart  proved  prophet ;  so 
said,  and  smiled.  For  there  was  no  mob.  Sunday 
dawned  like  a  dream.  The  sun  rode  up  without 
cloud  or  fire.  The  sea  carried  its  cool,  June  colors. 
The  harbor  wore  her  sweetest  face.  The  summer 
people,  like  figures  on  a  gay  Japanese  fan,  moved 
brightly  across  the  rocks  and  piers ;  Bayard  and 
Helen  looked  out  of  the  windows  of  the  Flying  Jib, 
and  watched  them  with  that  kindness  of  the  heart 
for  the  interests  of  strangers  which  belongs  to  joy 
alone.  A  motionless  fleet  lay  in  the  harbor,  opening 
its  silvery  wings  to  dry  them  in  the  Sunday  sun. 

The  fishermen  had  hurried  home  by  scores  to 
witness  the  dedication.  Everybody  had  a  smile 
for  the  preacher's  bride,  —  the  boarder  on  the 
rocks,  the  fisherman  from  the  docks. 

Every^  child  or  woman  to  whom  she  had  ever 
done  a  kindness  in  her  inexperienced,  warm-hearted 
fashion,  remembered  it  and  her  that  day.  She 
wore  the  unornamented  cream-white  silk  dress  in 
which  she  had  been  married  ;  for  Bayard  asked  it; 

"The  people  will  like  to  see  you  so,"  he  saidc 
"It  will  give  them  a  vision." 

All  the  town  was  alive  and  alert.  The  argu- 
ment of  success,  always  the  cogent  one  to  the 
average  mind,  was  peculiarly  effective  in  Windover, 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  397 

People  who  had  never  given  the  mission  a  thought 
before,  and  people  who  had  given  it  many,  but 
never  a  kindly  one,  looked  at  the  doors  of  the  new 
chapel,  smothered  in  wild  Cape  roses  for  the 
solemn  gala,  and  said :  "  That  affair  in  Angel 
Alley  seems  to  prosper,  spite  of  everythingo 
There  may  be  something  in  it,  after  all." 

It  was  expected  that  the  churches  themselves, 
though  reserved  on  the  subject,  would  be  better 
represented  at  Christlove  that  evening,  than  they 
eared  to  be ;  for  the  young  people  were  determined 
to  see  the  dedication,  and  would  pair  off  in  scores 
to  Angel  Alley,  leaving  their  elders  behind,  to 
support  the  ecclesiastical  foundations  in  decorum 
and  devotion,  as  by  the  creed  and  confession  bound. 

The  attendance  of  other  audiences  was  not  en- 
couraged, however,  by  the  pastor  in  Angel  Alley ; 
his  own  would  more  than  fill  the  chapel.  All  the 
little  preparations  of  the  people  went  on  quietly, 
and  he  brought  them,  as  it  was  his  will  to  do,  with- 
out weariness  or  worry,  to  the  evening.  He 
wished  the  dedication  of  his  chapel  to  be  free  from 
the  fret  and  care  which  turn  so  many  of  our  re- 
ligious festivals  into  scrambles,  —  I  had  almost 
said,  shambles,  for  the  harm  they  do  to  exhausted 
women,  and  to  careworn  men. 

The  day  passed  easily.  Bayard  himself,  though 
moving  under  deep  excitement,  gave  no  evidence 
of  it.  He  was  as  quiet  as  the  Saint  Michael  in  the 
picture,  whose  foot  was  on  the  dragon,  and  whose 
head  was  in  the  skies0 


398  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

The  day  passed  uneventfully.  The  evening  was 
one  of  Windover's  fairest  and  most  famous.  The 
sky  gave  the  ethereal  colors  of  transparent  rose- 
clouds,  and  the  harbor  returned  them  delicately. 
There  was  a  slight,  watery  line  in  the  northwest, 
but  the  oldest  sailors  scarcely  noticed  it.  No- 
thing had  happened  in  any  way  to  hinder  the 
movement  of  the  ceremonial,  or  to  mar  its  success. 
There  was  no  mob,  nor  threat  of  any.  There  was 
no  mass,  no  riot,  no  alarm.  Angel  Alley  was  dec- 
orous —  if  one  might  say  so,  obtrusively  decorous. 
Captain  Hap,  and  Job  Slip,  the  special  police,  and 
the  officers  of  the  mission  looked  out  of  narrow 
lids  at  Angel  Alley,  and  watched  guardedly. 

Not  a  misdemeanor  disturbed  the  calm  of  this, 
to  all  appearance,  now  law-abiding  —  nay,  law- 
adoring  street.  Saloon  after  saloon  that  Bayard 
had  closed  presented  locked  front  doors  to  the 
thirstiest  sailor  who  swaggered  from  the  wharves  in 
search  of  what  he  might  swallow.  Nameless  dens 
that  used  to  flourish  the  prosperity  of  their  sicken- 
ing trade  were  shut. 

Old  Trawl's  door  was  barred.  The  Trawls 
themselves  were  invisible.  There  would  be  no 
mob.  So  said  the  treasurer  of  the  chapel.  So 
said  the  Windover  police.  So  thought  the  anxious 
Professor,  and  his  tearful  wife.  So  said  Helen, 
sparkling  with  the  pretty  triumph  of  love  and  joy. 

"  Dear !  You  see  we  were  mistaken.  They  do 
love  you  here,  in  rough  old  Win  clover  —  bless  it, 
after  all !  We  were  too  anxious  —  I  was  worried  ; 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  399 

I  own  it,  now.  I  was  afraid  because  you  were  so 
precious  to  me.  And  I  could  not  be  with  you 
...  if  anything  .  .  .  went  wrong.  But  now  "  — • 

"  Now,"  he  said,  u  nothing  can  go  wrong.  For 
you  are  mine,  and  I  am  yours,  and  this  is  forever.'r 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  so  cheerfully/' 
she  said,  catching  at  the  lighter  note  in  the  chord 
of  his  words. 

He  did  not  answer  her ;  and  when  she  looked 
up,  she  was  surprised  at  the  solemn  expression  of 
his  face. 

44  Love,"  he  said,  "  it  is  time  to  go.  Kiss  me, 
Helen,  before  we  start." 

They  stood  at  the  window  in  her  own  little  room 
in  the  summer  cottage. 

O 

The  tide  was  rising,  and  it  gained  quietly  upon 
the  beaches  and  the  pier.  Bayard  looked  out  upon 
the  sea,  for  a  moment,  out  to  the  uttermost  hori- 
zon's purple  curve.  Then  he  took  his  wife  to  his 
heart,  and  held  her  there  ;  within  a  clasp  like  that, 
no  woman  speaks,  and  Helen  did  not. 

The  Professor  and  his  wife  passed  down  Angel 
Alley.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Tompkinton  and  that 
dear  old  moderator,  the  very  Orthodox  but  most 
Christian  minister  who  had  always  done  a  brother's 
deed  by  the  heretic  pastor  when  he  could,  followed 
the  great  Professor.  These  officers  of  the  evening's 
ceremony  entered  the  chapel,  and  —  not  staying  to 
leave  Mrs.  Carruth  in  a  front  pew,  but  leading  her 
with  them  —  passed  on  to  the  platform. 


400  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Whispers  buzzed  about. 

"  The  minister  !  Where 's  the  minister  ?  Hag 
anything  happened  to  Mr.  Bayard  ?  " 

For  the  chapel  was  already  full.  Captain  Hap 
trotted  impatiently  down  the  aisle.  Job  Slip  looked 
at  the  policeman  in  the  vestibule  in  a  worried  way0 
But  the  officer  stolidly  signaled  that  all  was  well  ; 
and  Captain  Hap  and  Job  Slip  and  scores  of 
watchers  breathed  again. 

Tha  congregation  increased  quietly.  Angel 
Alley  was  unprecedentedly  still.  The  audience 
was  serious  and  civil.  All  of  Bayard's  own  people 
were  there  —  many  citizens  of  Windover — and 
the  young  folks  from  the  churches,  as  expected. 

Then,  came  the  throng  from  the  wharves.  Then, 
came  the  crowd  from  the  streets.  Then,  came  the 
rough,  red  faces  from  foreign  ports,  and  from  the 
high  seas,  and  from  the  Grand  Banks,  and  Georges'. 
There  came  all  the  homeless,  neglected,  tossed,  and 
tempted  people  whom  Bayard  loved,  and  who  loved 
him.  There  came  the  outcast,  and  the  forgotten, 
and  the  unclean  of  heart  and  body.  There  came  the 
wretches  whom  no  one  else  thought  of,  or  cared 
for.  There  came  the  poor  girls  who  frequented 
no  other  house  of  worship,  but  were  always  wel- 
comed here.  There  came  the  common  people, 
who  heard  him  gladly ;  for  to  them  he  spoke,  and 
for  them  he  lived. 

The  preacher  walked  down  Angel  Alley  with 
his  wife,  in  her  white  dress,  upon  his  arm.  The 
Alley  was  thronged  with  spectators  who  did  not  or 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  401 

who  could  not  enter  the  chapel.  Two  policemen 
stepped  forward  to  escort  the  minister,  but  he 
waved  them  back.  He  and  Helen  walked  quietly 
to  the  chapel  steps,  and  were  about  to  enter, 
when  a  slight  disturbance  in  the  crowd,  at  their 
immediate  side,  caused  Bayard  to  look  around.  A 
girl  was  struggling  with  an  officer,  to  get  near 
enough  to  speak  to  the  minister. 

"  Get  back  there  !  "  commanded  the  policeman. 
"  Keep  back,  I  say !  This  is  no  place  nor  time  for 
the  likes  of  you  to  pester  the  minister  !  " 

"  Let  her  come !  "  ordered  Bayard  authoritatively. 
For  it  was  Lena.  The  girl  was  pale,  and  her 
handsome  eyes  had  a  ferocious  look. 

"  I  Ve  got  something  to  tell  him,"  announced 
Lena  with  calm  determination.  "  It 's  important, 
or  I  wouldn't  bother  him,  is  it  likely?  I  ain't  no 
such  a  fool  nor  flat." 

She  approached,  at  Bayard's  beck,  and  said  a  few 
words  in  a  tone  so  low  that  even  the  wife  upon 
his  arm  did  not  understand  them. 

"  Lena  still  feels  a  little  anxious,"  said  Bayard 
aloud,  distinctly.  "  Have  you  any  wishes  to  express, 
Helen  ?  " 

But  Helen,  smiling,  shook  her  head.  She  felt 
exalted  and  not  afraid.  She  would  have  gone  with 
him  to  death ;  but  she  did  not  think  about  death. 
She  did  not  believe  that  his  angels  would  suffer  a 
pebble  of  Windover  to  dash  against  him  ;  nor  that 
a  curl  of  his  gold-brown  head  would  come  to  harm. 
His  mood  ruled  her  utterly.  His  own  exaltation, 


402  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

his  beauty,  his  calm,  his  spiritual  power,  made 
clouds  before  her  eyes,  on  which  he  moved  as  a  god: 

So  they  entered  the  chapel,  together.  As  they 
did  so,  Bayard  turned,  and  looked  back.  Before 
all  the  people  there,  the  preacher  lifted  his  hat  to 
Lena,  and  passed  on. 

The  girl's  dark  face  dropped  upon  her  breast 
as  if  she  made  obeisance  before  him ;  then  she 
lifted  it  with  the  touching  pride  of  lost  self-respect 
regained.  Her  lips  moved.  "  He  thinks  I  'm  fit, 
at  last,"  said  Lena. 

The  preacher  and  his  young  wife  passed  through 
the  rose-wreathed  door,  and  into  the  chapel. 
Roses  were  there,  too ;  their  pale,  pink  lamps 
burned  all  over  the  chapel,  wherever  hand  could 
reach,  or  foot  could  climb.  This  was  the  decora- 
tion chosen  to  welcome  the  June  bride  to  Wind- 
over  —  the  people's  flower,  the  blossom  of  the  rocks 
and  downs. 

It  was  a  pleasant  chapel.  The  library,  the  gym- 
nasium, the  bowling-alley,  opened  from  the  prayer- 
room.  Pictures  and  books  and  games  and  loun- 
ging-places  for  tired  fellows  were  part  of  Bayard's 
Christianity.  Many  a  fisherman,  smoking  in  the 
room  below,  where  an  oath  turned  a .  man  out,  and 
a  coarse  phrase  was  never  heard,  would  listen  to 
the  singing  of  old  hymns,  above  him,  and  lay  his 
pipe  down,  and  wonder  what  the  music  meant,  and 
catch  a  line  he  used  to  hear  his  mother  sing,  and 
so  steal  up  to  hear  the  rest ;  and  sing  the  loudest 
of  them  all,  perhaps,  before  the  hymn  was  done. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  403 

Bayard  moved  up  among  his  silent  people,  to  his 
place.  His  wife  went  with  him,  and  he  led  her  to 
her  mother's  side,  at  his  right  hand. 

"  In  any  event,"  he  thought,  "  I  could  reach  her 
in  a  moment." 

His  eyes  sought  hers  for  that  instant.  She  nei- 
ther blushed  nor  paled,  but  had  her  sweet  com= 
posure.  In  her  bridal  white,  she  looked  like  the 
lily  of  his  life's  work,  the  angel  of  his  worried 
heart.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  peace  and  hope 
came  with  her,  as  purity  and  honor  dwelt  in  her 
presence.  He  felt  happier  and  stronger  for  know- 
ing that  she  was  so  near  him,  now,  and,  with  a 
brightening  brow  he  gave  the  signal  for  opening 
the  evening's  service. 

It  was  a  short  and  pleasant  service.  The  great 
Professor,  cordially  recognized  by  the  rough  audi- 
ence that  he  had  not  allowed  to  conquer  him  last 
Sunday,  contributed  his  most  distinguished  man- 
ner, his  best  good  sense,  and  the  least  possible  evi- 
dence of  his  theology  to  the  dedicating  hour.  The 
old  moderator  and  the  pastor's  classmate  from 
across  the  Cape  added  their  heartiest  help.  Most 
of  the  congregation  omitted  to  notice  that  the 
clergymen  from  the  city  were  not  present.  They 
were  not  missed.  Who  could  say  if  they  had  been 
invited  to  dedicate  Emanuel  Bayard's  chapel  ?  He 
had  pulled  along  without  them  for  three  years. 
He  was  incapable  of  resentment,  but  it  was  still 
possible  that  habit  had  its  way  with  the  missionary, 
and  that,  in  his  hour  of  success  he  had  simply  for- 


404  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

gotten  them,  as  in  his  time  of  distress  and  failure 
they  had  forgotten  him.  Who  could  blame  him  ? 

But  all  the  little  trouble  of  the  past  had  melted 
from  his  mind  and  heart ;  both  were  clear  and 
happy  when  he  rose,  at  last,  to  address  his  people. 
His  delicate  lips  had  but  parted  to  speak  to  them, 
when  there  started  such  a  storm  of  welcome  from 
the  fishermen  as  well-nigh  swept  his  self-possession 
from  him.  He  was  not  prepared  for  it,  and  he 
seemed  almost  disturbed.  From  aisle  to  aisle, 
from  wall  to  wall,  the  wind  of  sound  rose  and 
rolled  upon  him.  At  last  it  became  articulate, 
and  here  and  there  words  defined  themselves. 

"  God  bless  him  !  " 

"  Bless  our  dear  young  parson !  " 

"  Windover  fishermen  stand  by  him  every 
time !  " 

"  Blessin's  on  him,  anyhow !  " 

"  Christlove  's  good  enough  for  us !  " 

But  when  he  smiled  upon  them,  they  grew  quiet, 
as  they  had  done  once  before  —  that  evening  after 
the  wreck  and  rescue  off  Ragged  Rock ;  for  these 
two  were  the  only  occasions  when  the  applause  of 
his  people  had  got  the  better  of  their  pastor. 

When  he  began  to  speak,  it  was  not  without 
emotion,  but  in  a  voice  so  low  that  the  house  had 
to  hold  its  breath  to  hear  him. 

He  began  by  thanking  the  fishermen  of  Wind- 
over  for  their  trust  and  their  friendship.  Both, 
he  said,  he  valued,  and  more  than  they  would  ever 
know.  Of  his  own  struggles  and  troubles,  of  the 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  405 

bitter  years  that  he  had  toiled  among  them,  he 
said  no  word.  He  spoke  of  the  kindness  of  Wind- 
over,  not  of  its  neglect.  He  spoke  of  the  strength 
and  the  goodness  of  the  city,  rather  than  of  its 
weakness  and  its  error.  He  spoke  of  the  warm 
heart  of  the  people,  of  their  readiness  to  help  any 
need  which  they  understood,  and  in  w^iose  claim 
they  believed.  He  told  how  generous  they  were 
in  emergencies.  "  You  give  money,"  he  said, 
"  more  lavishly  than  any  town  I  have  ever  known. 
When  the  gales  have  struck,  and  the  fleets  gone 
down,  and  when,  with  widows  and  orphans  starving 
on  my  heart  and  hands,  I  have  asked  for  bread, 
Windover  has  never  given  them  a  stone.  Your 
poor  have  spent  themselves  utterly  upon  your  poor- 
est, and  your  rich  have  not  refused.  Windover 
gives  gloriously,"  said  Bayard,  "and  I  am  glad 
and  proud  to  say  so." 

Their  faults,  he  told  them,  they  had,  and  he  was 
not  there  to  condone  what  he  had  never  overlooked., 
One,  above  the  rest,  they  had  to  answer  for  ;  and 
what  that  was  —  did  he  need  to  name  ? 

"  It  is  not  your  sin  alone,"  he  said  firmly.  "  It 
is  the  sin  of  seaport  towns  ;  it  is  the  sin  of  cities ; 
it  is  the  sin  of  New  England ;  it  is  the  sin  of  the 
Nation ;  —  but  it  is  the  sin  of  Windover,  and  my 
business  is  with  Windover  sins.  I  have  fought 
it  since  I  came  among  you,  without  an  hour's 
wavering  of  purpose,  and  without  an  hour's  fear 
of  the  result ;  and  at  all  costs,  at  any  cost,  I  shall 


406  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

fight  it  till  I  go  from  you.  For  God  has  set  me 
among  you,  not  to  minister  to  your  self-satisfac- 
tion, but  to  your  needs." 

Bayard  paused  here,  and  regarded  his  people 
with  a  long  look.  Their  faces  blurred  before  him 
for  a  moment,  for  his  heart  was  full.  He  saw 
them  all,  in  the  distinctness  with  which  the  public 
speaker  perceives  familiar  sights  ;  every  trifle  upon 
the  map  of  his  audience  started  out. 

He  saw  Captain  Hap,  anxious  and  wrinkled, 
doing  usher's  duty  by  the  door  —  Captain  Hap, 
neither  pious  nor  godless,  but  ready  to  live  for  the 
parson  or  to  die  for  him,  and  caring  little  which ; 
the  good  fellow,  true  with  the  allegiance  of  age 
and  a  loyal  nature  —  dear  Captain  Hap  ! 

Bayard  saw  Job  Slip,  pale  with  the  chronic 
pallor  of  the  reformed  drunkard  —  poor  Job,  who 
drank  not  now,  neither  did  he  taste  ;  but  bore  the 
thirst  of  his  terrible  desert,  trusting  in  the  minis- 
ter and  God  Almighty,  —  in  the  succession  of  the 
phrase. 

Mari  was  there,  incapable  and  patient,  her  face 
and  figure  stamped  with  the  indefinable  something 
that  marks  the  drunkard's  wife.  And  Joey,  seri- 
ous and  old  —  little  Joey !  Bob  was  there,  and 
Jean,  and  Tony,  and  all  the  familiar  faces  from 
the  wharves.  Mrs.  Granite,  in  her  rusty  black,  sat 
tearfully  in  a  front  settee,  with  Jane  beside  her. 
Jane  looked  at  the  minister,  before  all  the  people, 
as  she  never  ventured  to  look  at  home.  But  no« 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  407 

body  noticed  Jane.  Bayard  did  but  glance  at  her 
pinched,  adoring  face  ;  he  dared  not  dwell  upon  it. 
Ben  Trawl  was  not  to  be  seen  in  the  audience,, 
But  Lena  was.  She  stood  the  service  through, 
for  she  had  come  in  too  late  to  find  a  seat ;  she 
stood  behind  Johnny's  mother,  who  wore  Helen's 
crape  bonnet  and  veil,  poor  old  lady,  with  a  brown 
bombazine  dress.  Lena  had  a  worried  look.  She 
did  not  remove  her  eyes  from  the  preacher.  Lena 
sang  that  day,  when  the  people  started  "  the 
minister's  hymn,"  - 

"  I  need  Thee  every  hour, 
Stay  Thou  near  by." 

Her  fine  voice  rose  like  a  solo ;  it  had  a  certain 
solitariness  about  it  which  was  touching  to  hear. 

"  Temptations  lose  their  power 
When  Thou  art  nigh." 

The  melody  of  the  hymn  died  away  into  the  hush 
in  which  Bayard  rose  again,  for  it  came  to  his 
heart  to  bless  his  people  and  his  chapel  in  one  of 
his  rare  prayers. 

"  Lord,"  he  said,  "Thou  art  the  God  of  the  sea 
and  its  perils  ;  of  the  land  and  its  sorrow.  Draw 
near  to  these  sea-people  who  tread  upon  the  shore 
of  Thy  mercy.  I  dedicate  them  to  Thee.  Father, 
take  them  from  my  hands  !  Lift  them  up !  Hold 
them,  that  they  fall  not.  Comfort  their  troubles. 
Forgive  their  sins.  Take  them !  Take  my  people 
from  my  heart!  .  .  .  Lord,  I  consecrate  this 


408  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

house  of  worship,  for  their  sakes,  and  in  Christ's 
name,  and  for  Christ's  love,  to  Thee,  and  to  Thy 
service.  .  .  .  Father !  Thou  knowest  how  I  have 
loved  this  people."  .  .  . 

Bayard's  voice  broke.  It  was  the  only  time  — = 
in  all  those  years.  His  prayer  remained  unfinished 
The  sobs  of  his  people  answered  him ;  and  his 
silence  was  his  benediction  upon  them. 

The  audience  moved  out  quietly.  It  was  now 
dark.  The  lights  in  the  chapel  had  been  noise- 
lessly lighted.  The  jets  of  the  illuminated  words 
above  the  door  were  blazing. 

The  Professor  and  the  clergymen  and  Helen's 
mother  stepped  apart  and  out  into  the  street ;  none 
of  them  spoke  to  Bayard,  for  his  look  forbade 
them.  The  Professor  of  Theology  was  greatly 
moved.  Signs  of  tears  more  natural  than  evan- 
gelical were  on  his  aged  face.  Bayard,  lingering 
but  a  moment,  came  down  the  aisle  with  his  wife 
upon  his  arm. 

"  Love,"  she  whispered,  "  it  is  over,  and  all  is 
well." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "it  is  over,  and 
it  is  well." 

They  came  down  and  out  upon  the-  steps.  Bayard 
stood  uncovered  beneath  the  white  and  scarlet 
lights,  which  spelled  the  words,  — 

"  THE  LOVE  OF  CHRIST." 

He  gave  one  glance  down  Angel  Alley.  It  was 
packed;  his  people  were  massed  to  protect  him. 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  409 

Beyond  them,  marshaled  into  the  darkness  and 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  it,  hovered  certain 
sullen  groups  of  frowning  men.  Not  a  hand  was 
raised.  Not  a  cry  was  heard.  No.  There  was 
to  be  no  mob.  He  had  to  meet,  not  violence,  but 
mute  and  serried  Hate. 

She  clung  to  his  arm  with  a  start.  She  looked 
up  into  his  face.  Its  more  than  earthly  radiance 
hushed  the  cry  upon  her  lips.  He  was  transfigured 
before  her.  For  that  moment,  all  the  people  — 
they  who  loved  and  they  who  loved  him  not  —  saw 
him  glorified,  there,  beneath  the  sacred  words 
whose  pure  and  blazing  fires  seemed  to  them  the 
symbol  of  his  soul. 

Then,  from  the  darkest  dark  of  Angel  Alley  a 
terrible  oath  split  the  air.  Something  struct 
him  ;  and  he  fell. 


XXIX. 

HALF  a  thousand  men  gave  chase ;  "but  the 
assailant  had  escaped  to  the  common  shelter  of  the 
coasting  town.  He  had  taken  to  the  water. 

It  was  now  quite  dark ;  clouds  had  gathered ; 
the  wind  had  risen  suddenly  ;  thunder  was  heard. 
A  fierce  gust  tore  the  dust  of  Angel  Alley,  and 
hurled  it  after  the  fleeing  criminal ;  as  if  even  the 
earth  that  he  trod  rejected  him.  In  this  blinding 
and  suffocating  whirlwind  the  pursuers  stumbled 
over  each  other,  and  ran  at  haphazard.  The  police 
swept  every  skulking-place,  dividing  their  forces 
between  the  Alley  and  the  docks.  But  their  man, 
who  was  shrewd  enough,  had  evaded  them  ;  it  was 
clear  that  he  had  marked  out  an  intelligent  map  of 
escape,  and  had  been  able  to  follow  it. 

The  baffled  police,  thinking  at  least  to  pacify 
the  angry  people  behind  them,  kept  up  that  appear- 
ance of  energy,  with  that  absence  of  expectation, 
for  which  their  race  is  distinguished. 

An  officer  who  was  stealthily  studying  the  docks 
far  to  the  westward,  and  alone,  suddenly  stopped. 
A  cry  for  help  reached  him  ;  and  it  was  a  woman's 
cry.  The  voice  kept  up  an  interrupted  itera- 
tion :  — 

"  Police  !       Help  !  —  Murder  !       Sergeant !  — 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  411 

Help !  Help !  "  as  if  choked  off,  or  strangled  in 
the  intervals. 

The  sergeant,  following  the  sound  as  well  as  he 
could,  leaped  down  the  long,  empty  wharf  from 
whose  direction  the  cry  seemed  to  come,  and  peered 
over  the  slimy  edge.  The  storm  was  passing 
noisily  up  the  sky,  and  the  darkness  was  of  the 
deepest. 

Out  of  its  hollow  a  girl's  voice  uprose :  — 

"  Sergeant !  Sergeant !  He  's  drowning  me ! 
But  I  've  got  him  !  "  and  bubbled  away  into  silence. 

At  that  moment  there  was  lightning;  and  the 
outlines  of  two  figures  struggling  in  the  water  could 
be  distinctly  seen.  These  two  persons  were  Lena 
and  Ben  Trawl.  They  seemed  to  have  each  other 
in  a  mutual  death-grip.  The  girl's  hands  were  at 
the  man's  throat.  He  dashed  her  under  and  under 
the  water.  But  her  clutch  did  not  relax  by  a 
finger.  He  held  her  down.  But  Lena  held  on. 

"  After  I  've  strangled  you !  "  gasped  Lena. 

" you,"  muttered  the  man.  "  Drown, 

then ! " 

Her  head  went  under ;  her  mouth  filled ;  this  time 
she  could  not  struggle  up ;  her  ears  rang ;  her 
brain  burst.  But  the  little  fingers  on  the  big 
throat  clutched  on.  Then  she  felt  herself  caught 
from  above  —  air  came,  and  breath  with  it  —  and 
Ben  swore  faintly. 

"Undo  your  hands,  Lena,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"  We  Ve  got  him.  You  don't  want  to  hang  him 
before  his  time." 


412  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

Another  flash  of  lightning  revealed  the  sea  and 
sky,  the  docks  and  the  officers,  and  Ben,  purple 
and  breathing  hard,  stretched  upon  the  wharf. 
Lena  heard  the  snap  of  the  handcuffs  upon  his 
wrists ;  and  then  she  heard  and  saw  no  more. 

The  sergeant  touched  the  girl's  dripping  and 
unconscious  figure  with  a  respect  never  shown  to 
Lena  in  Windover  police  circles  before, 

"  She  might  not  come  to,  yet,"  he  said ;  "  she 's 
nigh  enough  to  a  drowned  girl.  Get  a  woman, 
can't  you,  somebody?" 

"  The  man 's  all  we  can  manage,"  replied  a 
brother  officer.  "  Get  him  to  the  station  the  back 
way  —  here !  Give  a  hand  there  !  Quick !  We  '11 
have  lynch-law  here  in  just  about  ten  minutes,  if 
you  ain't  spry.  Hark !  D'  ye  hear  that  ?  " 

A  muffled  roar  came  down  the  throat  of  Angel 
Alley.  It  grew,  and  approached.  It  was  the  cry 
of  all  Windover  raging  to  avenge  the  Christian 
hero  whom  it  learned,  too  late,  to  honor. 

"  Anyhow,  he  '11  hang  for  it,"  muttered  Lena, 
when  she  came  to  herself  in  her  decent  room. 
Johnny's  mother  was  moaning  over  her,  Lena 
pushed  the  old  woman  gently  away,  and  com- 
manded the  retreating  officer,  — 

"  Say,  won't  he  ?     Out  with  it !  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  officer  in  a  comfortable 
tone,  "a  good  deal  depends.  Liquor  men  ain't 
skerce  in  this  county.  He  'd  get  twenty  witnesses 
to  swear  to  an  alibi  as  easy  as  he  'd  get  one." 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  413 

"  Let  'em  swear,"  said  Lena.  "  I  see  him  do  it. 
I  saw  him  heave  the  stone." 

"  That  might  alter  the  case,  and  again  it 
mightn't,"  replied  the  officer;  "it  would  depend 
on  the  value  of  the  testimony  —  previous  reputa- 
tion, and  so  on." 

Lena  groaned. 

"  But  I  caught  him  by  the  arm  !  I  stood  along- 
side of  him.  I  was  watching  for  it.  I  thought 
I  'd  be  able  to  stop  him.  I  'm  pretty  strong.  I 
grabbed  him  —  but  he  flung  me  off  and  stamped 
on  me.  I  see  him  heave  the  rock.  See  !  There 's 
the  mark,  where  he  kicked  me.  Then  he  ran,  and 
I  after  him.  I  can  swear  to  it  before  earth  and 
heaven.  I  see  him  fling  that  rock  !  " 

"  You  see,"  observed  the  officer,  "  it  ain't  a  case 
of  manslaughter  just  yet.  The  minister  was 
breathing  when  they  moved  him." 

They  carried  him  to  his  own  rooms,  for  it  was 
not  thought  possible  to  move  him  further.  He  had 
not  spoken  nor  stirred,  but  his  pulse  indicated  that 
a  good  reserve  of  life  remained  in  him.  The 
wound  was  in  the  lung.  The  stone  was  a  large 
and  jagged  one,  with  a  cruel  edge.  It  had  struck 
with  malignant  power,  and  by  one  of  those  extraor- 
dinary aims  which  seem  to  be  left  for  hate  and 
chance  to  achieve. 

His  wife  had  caught  him  as  he  fell.  She  had 
uttered  one  cry ;  after  that,  her  lips  had  opened 
only  once,  and  only  to  say  that  she  assented  to  her 


414  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

father's  proposal  for  the  removal  of  her  husband 
to  Mrs,  Granite's  house,  and  that  she  entreated 
them  to  find  some  gentle  method  of  transportation 
over  the  rough  road.  For  Windover  was  a  town  of 
many  churches,  but  of  no  hospital. 

Oddly,  the  only  quite  coherent  thought  she  had 
was  of  a  man  she  had  heard  about,  a  carpen- 
ter, who  fell  from  a  staging  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Cape.  He  was  put  into  an  express  cart  and 
driven  home,  a  seven-mile  gallop,  over  the  rudest 
road  in  the  State,  to  his  wife ;  naturally,  he  was 
dead  when  he  got  there.  Bayard  had  been  called 
to  see  the  widow. 

Captain  Hap  stepped  up  (on  tiptoe,  as  if  he  had 
been  in  a  sick-room),  and  whispered  to  the  sur- 
geon who  had  been  summoned  to  Angel  Alley. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  surgeon  ;  "  it  has  never 
been  tried,  that  I  know  of,  but  it  is  worth  trying 
—  most  modern  ideas  are  —  if  practicable." 

"  The  fishermen  hev  cleared  the  car,  the  com- 
pany has  cleared  the  track,  and  the  motorman  is 
one  of  his  people,"  said  Captain  Hap ;  "  an'  there 's 
enough  of  us  to  carry  him  from  here  to  heaven  so 
— so  lovin'ly  he  'd  never  feel  a  jolt." 

The  old  captain  made  no  effort  to  wipe  the 
tears  whicn  rained  down  his  wrinkled  cheeks.  He 
and  Job  Slip,  with  Mr.  Bond  and  Bob  and  Tony, 
took  hold  of  the  stretcher ;  they  looked  about,  to 
choose,  out  of  a  hundred  volunteers,  the  sixth 
strong  hand. 

The  Reverend  George  Fenton,  agitated  and  trem- 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  415 

bling,  forced  his  way  through  the  parting  crowd, 
and  pleaded  piteously  to  be  allowed  to  offer  his 
assistance  in  carrying  his  wounded  classmate. 

"  I  have  never  lifted  a  hand  to  help  him  since  I 
came  to  Windover,"  cried  Fenton  in  the  voice  of  a 
man  who  would  rather  that  the  whole  world  heard 
what  he  said  and  knew  how  he  felt.  "  Let  me 
have  this  chance  before  it  is  too  late  !  .  .  .  I  'm 
not  worthy  to  touch  his  bier,"  added  Fenton 
brokenly. 

They  gave  way  to  his  pleading,  and  it  was 
clone  as  he  asked.  Thus  the  wounded  man  was 
carried  gently  to  the  electric  car  —  "  the  people's 
carriage."  The  fishermen,  as  the  captain  said, 
had  captured  it ;  they  stood  with  bowed  heads,  as 
the  stretcher  passed  through  them,  like  children, 
sobbing.  Throngs  of  them  followed  the  slowly 
moving  car,  which  carried  Bayard  tenderly  to  his 
own  door.  It  was  said  afterwards  that  scores  of 
them  watched  all  night  outside  the  cottage,  peer- 
ing for  some  sign  of  how  it  fared  with  him ;  but 
they  were  so  still  that  one  might  hardly  tell  their 
figures  from  the  shadows  of  the  night. 

The  wind  had  continued  to  rise,  but  the  thunder 
had  passed  on,  and  the  shower  was  almost  over 
when  Bayard's  bearers  lifted  him  across  the  thresh- 
old of  Mrs.  Granite's  door.  At  that  moment  one 
belated  flash  ran  over  earth  and  sea  and  sky.  It 
was  a  red  flash,  and  a  mighty  one.  By  its  crimson 
light  the  fishermen  saw  his  face  for  that  last 
instant  \  it  lay  turned  over  on  the  stretcher 


416  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

quietly,  towards  his  wife.  The  red  color  dyed  her 
bridal  white,  and  the  terrible  composure  of  her 
attitude  was  revealed  ;  her  hand  was  fast  in  his ; 
she  seemed  to  communicate,  God  knew  how,  with 
the  unconscious  man. 

The  flash  went  out,  and  darkness  fell  again. 

"  Then  God  shut  the  door,"  muttered  an  old  and 
religious  fisherman  who  stood  weeping  by  the 
fence,  among  the  larkspurs. 

The  wind  went  down,  and  the  tide  went  out. 
Bayard's  pulse  and  breath  fell  with  the  sea,  and 
the  June  dawn  came.  The  tide  came  in,  and  the 
wind  arose,  and  it  was  evening.  Then  he  moaned, 
and  turned,  and  it  was  made  out  that  he  tried  to 
say,  "Helen?  —  was  Helen  hurt?"  Then  the 
soul  came  into  his  eyes,  and  they  saw  her. 

He  did  not  sink  away  that  day,  nor  the  next, 
and  the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  third 
day  in  the  chamber  where  death  and  life  made 
duel  for  him. 

He  suffered,  it  is  hard  to  think  how  much;  but 
the  fine  courage  in  his  habit  of  living  clung  on. 
The  injury  was  not,  necessarily,  a  fatal  one.  The 
great  consulting  surgeon  called  from  Boston  said5 
"The  patient  may  live."  He  added:  "But  the 
vitality  is  low ;  it  has  been  sapped  to  the  roots. 
And  the  lung  is  weak.  There  has  been  a  strain 
sometime ;  the  organ  has  received  a  lesion." 

Then  Job  Slip,  when  he  heard  this,  thought  of 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  417 

the  minister's  cough,  which  dated  from  that  battle 
with  the  surf  off  Ragged  Rock.  And  the  value  of 
his  own  cheap  life,  bought  at  a  price  so  precious, 
overwhelmed  the  man.  He  would  have  died  a 
hundred  deaths  for  the  pastor.  Instead,  he  had 
to  do  the  harder  thing.  It  was  asked  of  him  to 
live,  and  to  remember. 

In  all  those  days  (they  were  eight  in  number) 
Jane  Granite's  small,  soft  eyes  took  on  a  strange 
expression  ;  it  was  not  unlike  that  we  see  in  a  dog 
who  is  admitted  to  the  presence  of  a  sick  or  in- 
jured master.  God  was  merciful  to  Jane.  The 
pastor  had  come  back.  To  live  or  to  die,  he  had 
come.  It  was  hers  again  to  work,  to  watch,  to  run, 
to  slave  for  him ;  she  looked  at  the  new  wife  with- 
out a  pang  of  envy;  she  came  or  went  under 
Helen's  orders ;  she  poured  out  her  heart  in  that 
last  torrent  of  self-forgetful  service,  and  thanked 
God  for  the  precious  chance,  and  asked  no  more. 
She  had  the  spaniel  suffering,  but  she  had  the 
spaniel  happiness. 

For  seven  days  and  nights  he  lay  in  his  shabby 
rooms,  a  royal  sufferer.  The  Christ  above  his  bed 
looked  down  with  solemn  tenderness ;  in  his  mo- 
ments of  consciousness  (but  these  were  few)  he 
glanced  at  the  picture. 

Helen  had  not  left  his  room,  either  day  or  night. 
Leaning  upon  one  arm  on  the  edge  of  the  narrow 
bed,  she  watched  for  the  lifting  of  an  eyelid,  for 
the  motion  of  a  hand,  for  the  ebbing  or  the  rising 


418  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

of  a  breath.  Sometimes  he  knew  her,  and  seemed 
to  try  to  say  to  her  how  comforting  it  was  to  him  to 
have  her  there,  in  the  dreary  old  rooms,  where  he 
had  dreamed  of  her  sumptuous  presence  ;  where 
they  meant  to  begin  their  life  and  love  together. 

But  he  could  not  talk.  She  found  herself  al 
ready  anticipating  the  habit  of  those  whom  the 
eternal  silence  bereaves,  recalling  every  precious 
phrase  that  his  lips  had  uttered  in  those  last  days; 
she  repeated  to  herself  the  words  which  he  had 
said  to  her  on  Sunday  morning,  — 

"  Nothing  can  harm  us  now,  for  you  are  mine, 
and  I  am  yours,  and  this  is  forever." 

As  the  seventh  day  broke  he  grew  perceptibly 
stronger.  Helen  yielded  to  her  father's  entreaties, 
and  for  a  moment  absented  herself  from  the  sick- 
room —  for  she  was  greatly  overworn,  —  to  drink 
a  breath  of  morning  air.  She  sat  down  on  the  step 
in  the  front  door  of  the  cottage.  She  noticed  the 
larkspur  in  the  garden,  blue  and  tall ;  bees  were 
humming  through  it ;  the  sound  of  the  tide  came 
up  loudly;  Jane  Granite  came  and  offered  her 
something,  she  could  not  have  said  what.;  Helen 
tried  to  drink  it,  but  pushed  the  cup  away,  and 
went  hurriedly  upstairs  again. 

A  cot  had  now  been  moved  in  for  her  beside 
Bayard's  narrow  bed.  She  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  it,  between  her  father  and  her  husband.  The 
Professor  stirred  to  step  softly  out. 

"  Dear  Professor !  "  said  Bayard  suddenly.  He 
looked  at  the  Christ  on  the  wall,  and  smiled.  "  We 


A  SINGULAR  LIFE.  419 

meant  —  the  same  thing  —  after  all,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

Then  he  put  his  hand  in  his  wife's,  and  slept. 

It  came  on  to  be  the  evening  of  the  eighth  day 
He  had  grown  stronger  all  the  day,  but  he  suf- 
fered much. 

"  Folks  are  keepin'  of  him  back  by  their  prayers," 
said  the  religious, old  fisherman,  who  leaned  every 
day  upon  the  garden  fence.  "  He  can't  pass." 

But  Job  Slip  and  Captain  Hap,  who  sat  upon 
the  doorsteps,  listening  from  dawn  to  dark  for  any 
sign  from  Bayard's  room,  said  nothing  at  all. 

It  came  to  be  evening,  and  the  tide  had  risen 
with  the  wind.  The  sea  called  all  night  long. 
Helen  sat  alone  with  her  husband. 

He  did  not  wander  that  night,  but  watched  her 
face  whenever  he  was  not  asleep. 

"Kiss  me,  Helen,"  he  sighed  at  midnight. 

She  stooped  and  kissed  him,  but  her  lips  took 
the  air  from  him,  and  he  struggled  for  it, 

"  You  poor,  poor  girl !  "  he  said. 

The  wind  went  down,  and  the  tide  went  out. 
The  dawn  came  with  the  ebb.  Bayard  fell  into  a 
sleep  so  gentle  that  Helen's  heart  leaped  with  hope. 
She  stole  out  into  the  study.  Captain  Hap  was 
there ;  his  shoes  were  off ;  he  stepped  without  noise. 
The  sunrise  made  a  rose-light  in  the  rooms. 

"  It  is  real  sleep,"  breathed  Helen.  "  Don't 
wake  him,  Captain." 

But  when  the  old  sailor-nurse  would  have  taken 
her  place  for  the  morning  watch,  she  shook  her 


420  A  SINGULAR  LIFE. 

head.  She  went  back  and  lay  down  on  the  cot  be- 
side her  husband;  he  moved  his  hand,  as  if  he 
groped  for  hers,  and  she  was  sorry  that  he  had 
missed  it  for  a  moment. 

"  It  shall  not  happen  again,"  she  thought. 

Then  exhaustion  and  vigil  overcame  her,  for  she 
had  watched  for  many  nights  ;  and  thinking  that 
she  waked,  she  slept. 

When  she  came  to  herself  it  was  broad,  bright 
day.  Her  hand  had  a  strange  feeling ;  when  she 
tried,  she  could  not  move  it,  for  he  held  it  fast. 
There  were  people  in  the  room,  —  her  father,  her 
mother,  Captain  Hap.  She  stirred  a  little,  lean- 
ing towards  her  husband's  pillow. 

"  Dear,  are  you  better  this  morning  ?  " 

But  some  one  came  up,  and  gently  laid  a  hand 
upon  her  eyes. 


XXX. 

JOB  SLIP  went  down  to  the  water,  and  it  was 
dark.  He  walked  apart,  and  took  himself  into  that 
solitary  place  on  the  wharves  which  he  remem- 
bered,  where  he  had  knelt  in  the  rain,  one  night, 
and  said,  "  God,"  for  Mr.  Bayard. 

A  mackerel  keg  was  there  —  the  same  one,  per- 
haps ;  he  overturned  it,  and  sat  down,  and  tried  to 
understand.  Job  had  not  been  able  to  under- 
stand since  Mr.  Bayard  was  hurt. 

Thought  came  to  him  slowly,  and  with  pain  like 
that  caused  by  the  return  of  congested  blood  to 
its  channels. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Job.  "  Lord  A'mighty,  he 
ain't  alive.  Seems  I  could  n't  get  it  into  my  head. 
They  've  killed  him.  He  's  goin'  to  be  buried." 

Job  clenched  his  gnarled  hands  together,  and 
shook  them  at  the  sky ;  then  they  dropped. 

"  Seems  like  shakin'  fists  at  him"  thought  Job. 
"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to.  S'posen  he 's  up  yander. 
That 's  the  idee.  Lord  A'mighty,  what  do  you 
mean  by  it  ?  You  did  n't  stop  to  think  of  us 
reformed  men,  did  you,  when  you  let  this  hap- 
pen? .  .  .  For  Christ's  sake,  Amen,"  added  Job, 
under  the  impression  that  he  had  been  giving  utter* 
ance  to  a  prayer. 


422  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

"  Mr.  Bayard  ?  "  called  Job  aloud.  He  slipped 
off  the  keg  and  got  upon  his  knees.  As  he 
changed  his  position,  the  fisherman  vaguely 
noticed  the  headlight  of  the  schooner  on  which  he 
was  to  have  taken  his  trip,  that  night.  "  There 
goes  the  Tilly  E.  Salt,"  said  Job,  interrupting 
himself ;  "  she 's  got  to  weigh  without  me,  this 
time.  I  'm  guard  of  honor  for  the  —  the  —  I 
can't  say  it !  "  groaned  Job.  "  It 's  oncredible  him 
bein'  in  a  —  him  put  in  a  —  Lord,  he 's  the 
livin'est  man  I  ever  set  my  eyes  on ;  he  CAN'T  die ! 
.  .  .  Mr.  Bayard ?  Mr.  Bayard,  sir?" 

Job  paused,  as  if  he  expected  to  be  answered. 
The  water  dashed  loudly  against  the  old  pier. 
The  distant  cry  of  the  buoy  came  over  the  harbor. 
The  splash  of  retreating  oars  sounded  faintly 
somewhere,  through  the  dark. 

"  He 's  livin'  along,"  said  Job,  after  some 
thought.  "  He  can't  get  fur  out  of  Angel  Alley. 
He  would  n't  be  happy.  He  'd  miss  us,  some- 
ways  ;  he  's  so  used  to  us  ;  he 's  hoverin'  in  them 
hymn-toons  and  that  gymnasium  he  set  so  much 
by.  I  '11  bet  he  is.  He  's  lingerin'  in  us  poor 
devils  he  's  spent  three  year  makin'  men  of  ... 
He  's  a-livin'  here" 

Job  struck  his  own  broad  breast,  and  then  he 
struck  it  again.  A  shudder  passed  over  his  big 
frame ;  and  then  came  the  storm.  He  had  not  wept 
before,  since  Mr.  Bayard  died.  The  paroxysm 
wearied  and  weakened  him,  and  it  was  the  piteous 
fact  that  these  were  the  next  words  which  passed 
the  lips  of  the  half-healed  drunkard. 


A   SINGULAR   LIFE.  423 

"  God  A'mighty,  if  I  only  had  a  drink  !  " 

Two  hours  afterwards,  Job  Slip  came  up  the 
wharves  ;  he  came  as  he  went,  alone ;  he  walked 
with  a  steady  step  ;  he  held  his  head  high  in  the 
dark.  He  whispered  as  he  walked  :  — 

"  I  did  n't  —  no,  I  did  n't  do  it.  ...  Bein?  left 
so  —  I  've  alwers  had  you,  sir,  before,  you  know. 
It  makes  a  sight  o'  difference  when  a  man  hain't 
anybody  but  God.  He  's  a  kinder  stranger.  I 
did  n't  know,  one  spell  there  —  but  I  was  goin' 
under.  .  .  .  You  won't  desert  a  fellar,  will  you  — - 
yander  ?  I  '11  do  you  credit,  sir,  see  if  I  don't. 
I  won't  disgrace  you, d  if  I  will !  " 

At  that  moment  Job  shied  suddenly,  like  a 
horse,  clear  from  one  side  of  the  wharf  to  the 
other.  He  cried  aloud,  — 

"  Why,  why,  what 's  here  ?      "What 's  got  me  ?  " 

Fingers  touched  him,  but  they  were  of  flesh; 
little  fingers,  but  they  were  warm,  and  curled  con- 
fidingly in  Job's  big  hand. 

"  Joey  ?  You  ?  Little  Joey  !  Why,  father's 
sonny  boy !  You  come  just  in  the  right  time,  Joey. 
I  was  kinder  lonesome.  I  miss  the  minister.  I 
ain't  —  just  feeliii'  right." 

"  Fa — ther,"  said  Joey  pleasantly  ;  "  Marm  said 
to  find  you,  for  she  said  she  fought  you  'd  need 
you  little  boy." 

"  And  so  I  do,  my  son,  and  so  I  do !  "  cried 
Job. 

With  Joey's  little  fingers  clasped  in  his,  Job 


424  A   SINGULAR  LIFE. 

walked  up  Angel  Alley,  past  the  doors  of  the  dens 
that  were  closed,  and  the  doors  that  were  open 
still ;  and  if  the  ghost  of  the  dear,  dead  minister 
had  swept  visibly  before  Job  and  Joey,  no  man 
could  have  tempted  or  disturbed  them  less. 

In  his  own  chapel,  in  Angel  Alley,  Bayard  lay 
in  state.  It  was  such  state  as  the  kings  of  the 
earth  might  envy,  and  its  warriors  and  its  states- 
men and  its  poets  do  not  know.  It  was  said  that 
his  was  the  happiest  dead  face  that  ever  rebuked 
the  sadness  of  the  living ;  and  the  fairest  that  they 
who  wept  for  him  had  ever  seen.  Death  had  not 
marred  his  noble  beauty;  and  in  death  or  life 
there  was  no  comelier  man.  All  the  city  thronged 
to  show  him  reverence  who  had  lived  among  them 
baffled,  doubted,  and  sick  at  heart;  and  it  ap- 
peared that  those  who  had  done  the  least  for  him 
then,  would  have  done  most  for  him  now :  the 
people  of  ease ;  the  imitators  ;  the  conformers,  and 
the  church  members  who  never  questioned  their 
own  creeds  or  methods  ;  the  summer  strangers 
playing  at  life  upon  the  harbor  coast,  and  visitors 
from  a  distance  where  the  preacher  had  his  fame. 

But  when  these  superior  and  respectable  per- 
sons crowded  to  give  their  tardy  tribute  to  him, 
they  were  told  that  there  was  no  room  for  them  in 
the  chapel ;  nay,  they  could  scarcely  find  footing 
in  the  dust  of  Angel  Alley.  For  they  were  held 
back  by  the  sacred  rights  of  "  nearest  mourners  "  ; 
and  Bayard's  mourners  claimed  him.  It  was  said 


A   SINGULAR  LIFE.  425 

that  hundreds  of  sunburnt  men  had  stood  waiting 
in  the  street  since  midnight  for  the  opening  of  the 
doors,  and  the  chance  to  enter.  Then,  there  had 
passed  up  the  steps  of  Christlove  Chapel  the 
great  mass  of  the  neglected  and  the  poor,  the 
simple  and  the  sodden  and  the  heart-broken,  and 
those  who  had  no  friends  but  only  that  one  man ; 
and  God  had  taken  him.  The  fishermen  of  Wind- 
over,  and  the  poor  girls,  the  widows  of  Windover, 
and  her  orphaned  children,  the  homeless,  foreign 
sailors,  and  the  discontented  laborers  from  the 
wharves  poured  in  ;  and  the  press  was  great. 

He  lay  among  them  regally,  wrapped  in  his 
purple  pall.  And  he  and  Helen  knew  that  her 
bridal  roses  withered  forever  out  of  mortal  sight 
upon  his  breast.  But  she  had  given  him  up  at  this 
last  hour  to  his  people  ;  he  was  theirs,  and  they 
were  his,  and  what  they  willed  they  did  for  him, 
and  she  did  not  gainsay  them.  They  covered  him 
with  their  wild  flowers,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Cape ;  and  clumsy  sailors  brought  big,  hothouse 
bouquets  flaring  on  wires  and  splashed  with  tears, 
"  to  give  the  minister."  And  his  dead  heart,  like 
his  living  one,  was  found  large  enough  to  hold 
them  all. 

One  poor  girl  brought  no  flowers  to  Bayard's 
burial.  Lena  brought  only  sobs  instead,  and 
watered  his  pall  with  her  tears,  and  hid  her  faces 
and  passed  on,  with  her  hands  before  it. 

Now,  around  the  bier  there  stood  a  guard  of 
honor  strange  to  see ;  for  it  was  chosen  from  the 


426  A   SINGULAR   LIFE. 

Windover  drunkards  whom  the  pastor  had  saved 
and  cured.  Among  them,  Job  Slip  stood  proudly  in 
command  at  the  minister's  head  :  the  piteous  type 
of  all  that  misery  which  Bayard  had  died  to 
lessen,  and  of  that  forgotten  manliness  which  he 
had  lived  to  save. 

There  was  no  dirge  sung  at  Christlove  Chapel 
when  he  was  borne  from  it.  A  girl's  voice  from  a 
darkened  corner  of  the  gallery  started  "  the  minis- 
ter's hymn,"  but  trembled,  and  broke  quite  down. 
So  the  fishermen  took  it  up,  and  tried  to  sing,  — 

"  I  need  thee  every  hour." 

But  they,  too,  faltered,  for  they  needed  him  too 
much ;  and  in  silence,  trying  not  to  sob,  with  bared, 
bowed  heads  they  passed  out  gently  (for  his  spirit 
was  upon  them),  thinking  to  be  better  men. 

One  of  the  summer  people,  a  stranger  in  the 
town,  strolling  on  the  beach  that  day,  was  attracted 
by  an  unusual  and  impressive  sight  upon  the  water, 
and  asked  what  that  extraordinary  display  of  the 
signs  of  public  mourning  meant. 

An  Italian  standing  by,  made  answer,  — 

"  The  Christman  is  dead." 

He  tried  to  explain  further,  but  choked,  and 
pointed  seaward,  and  turned  away. 

For,  from  every  main  in  the  harbor,  as  far  as 
eye  could  see,  the  flags  of  Windover  floated 
at  half-mast.  The  fishermen  had  done  him  this 
honor,  reserved  only  for  the  great  of  the  earth, 
and  for  their  own  dead  mates ;  and  most  sacred 
for  these  last. 


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